The Beaten and The Damned
by Elryk Vail
Summary: Gently, the executioner slid the noose over the young man's head, making certain the coiled rope was snug against his skin. The boy- barely a man- began to tremble at the rough texture of the rope that encased his neck. His pale eyes dragged across the crowd at the people who shivered in the crisp morning air. His eyes a blank slate that, in an instant, flooded with tears. AU.
1. Prologue

_Dead Men Walking._

* * *

The moaned protest of aged wood crawled into the air as the feet of the Damned took their last steps. In every creak came a silent plea of help. It was the final scream of a mouse caught in the dagger claws of a starved cat; terrified, helpless, useless.

Dead.

The men in shredded and blood-marred clothing proceeded up to the grey wooden platform. A wooden grave was constructed above the ground for all to see, a display for all the wide-eyed gazers below. A show of the consequences of a government-driven law against the _altered_, against the _strange_, against the _different_. The men slowly came to a halt in front of the composer of their death; a shabby noose tied to a wooden beam suspended above their heads. The floor beneath them bowed against the added weight of the five poor souls.

Across the men's skin laid the marks of their Damnation. Black images littered across their flesh that flickered and flexed upon their own accord. These men bore the marks of the gifted. Each man had been graced with a gift given by genetics- an accomplishment beyond true comprehension. A talent that, in the hazed history of this world, had led to the downfall of many lives of human beings. The men before the mute crowd were cursed with gifts that should be in the hands' of deities, not the common-placed everyday, labored man. They'd done no wrong, their souls being taken for a crime they couldn't control. The capital crime of being born.

The men were the brothers of those before them, nothing estranged them from the ones in the silent crowd but the marks on their bodies and the powers they harbored. The men looked to the ones of the crowd not with contempt, but with sorrow. Sorrow and guilt for the crimes of their ancestors, the crimes that they were to be hanged for. Crimes they did not commit.

People of this world feared the strange and the different. They feared that the past would rise from it's grave to repeat the hell the men's ancestors created. The blood, the war, and the misery of the incurable disease that plagued them all- death. So, in order for them to feel safe, the people killed the ones who bore the marks of the past. They killed the ones who were different from themselves. These men were called the _'Damned'_, and the marks were referred to as_ 'Damnation's_.

A choked sob echoed in the clearing from a woman in the back. The hats of the men left their heads to be placed over their hearts, and the mother told their children to bow their heads.

A man in black stretched for the first noose. His leather suit strained slightly as he lifted the noose from it's resting place and gestured to the man standing behind it. Slowly, the chained feet stepped forward.

The man's face was still young with the flesh of a baby's. His lips plump, cheeks a rosy red, and eyes widened with despair. Gently, the executioner slid the noose over the young man's head, making certain the coiled rope was snug against his skin. The boy- barely a man- began to tremble at the rough texture of the rope that encased his neck. His pale eyes dragged across the crowd at the people who shivered in the crisp morning air. His eyes a blank slate that, in an instant, flooded with tears. A sob racked his body as his red lips trembled at the finalization that laid before him. Upon the realization of the inevitable, he slammed his eyes shut and bowed his head in submission. The executioners slowly let go of the rope to stare at the young man before him in quiet pity before shifting to repeat the gesture to the man who stood next to him. The young man's body continued to shake at the force of his sobs as his last hopes drained from him. The black figure that rested near his heart fluttered at the emotions coursing throughout the man's body, his Damnation streaked up his neck to rest on his face.

The ink figure was of a hummingbird, the wings beat as fast as the boy's heart. The animated hummingbird watched the scene before it with beady eyes. The black image was of hyper detail, as if one could reach up the the boy's face and touch the little bird's soft feathers. It's petite body turned to stare at the people below who were hesitant to stare back. A young girl in the front row watched with wide green eyes as the little bird seemed to react to the tears that ran down the young man's face; shaking it's head as if the tears were dew drops dripping from a leaf above. The black image looked up from the boy's cheek to the eye above it. Tentatively, the hummingbird maneuvered it's way up the side of his face, horizontal to his shut eyes. It's beating wings drifted the figure towards the eye. The bird shyly leaned forward to bring it's beak to the edge of the boy's eye.

The Damnation continued to comfort the rosy cheeked boy as the sobs grew stronger at the touch of the bird. The child from below continued to stare at the interaction between the two with an insatiable curiosity. In the eyes of innocence, there was no crime committed. The one before the little girl had done no wrong to deserve this fate, she decided. Her eyes flooded with pity and remorse for the young man and the pretty little bird. A call from the executioner caught the attention of the girl. Her long brown hair jerked as her head snapped upwards to look at the dark-clothed man who now stood at a lever that jutted out from the wood. All five men that stood on the wooden platform had their necks laced with the noose.

The little girl's green eyes looked back to the young man before her. She made a quiet noise of surprise to see the pale eyes of the man staring back at her, as well as the bird's. Both of them looked at the girl with content, as if something there brought peace to them. She blinked in confusion at the man. Tilting her head, her eyes asked the question her mouth couldn't. _Why are you happy?_ She watched as he seemed to contemplate the question. His pale eyes clouding over in thought at the questioning expression. His eyes trailed over the little girl's face, as if he was staring at something completely foreign. Her face was the emblem of pure innocence; a small button-red nose, rounded cheeks, long soft hair that curled around big eyes. This only led to more questions in the girl's young mind before she saw the boy's face shift. The rosy cheeks and red lips of the boy perked up as he began to smile down at her. _You,_ The man mouthed in reply.

His eyes glazed over with merriment as he continued to look down at her, despite the calls from the executioner ringing in his ears. The hummingbird on his cheek continued to stare at the little girl in wonder as well, it's little black eyes glued to her. The girl bit her lip as she stared back. What could a little hummingbird do to deserve to be killed, her mind puzzled over it. It was such a pretty little bird. Something so small, so modest, so_ fragile_ upon the young man's skin in this world couldn't have done something so horrid to deserve-

A loud creak of wood-on-wood shattered the thought of the child's mind as the executioner pulled the lever. She glanced fearfully at the executioner, seeing that the lever had been moved. The sound of choking came from all five men upon the stage as the floor beneath them gave way and the ropes tightened around their throats'- the weight of their own bodies constricting it like a boa. Their own bodies were killing them, she thought in horror as the bird upon the young man's cheek began to slow it's beating wings. The people around her stood with heads bowed, eyes closed and hands folded but the little girl couldn't take her eyes off the boy. The smile on his face stayed as the rope closed his windpipe. His eyes remained on her as she watched his face go from a rosy, plump red to a paled white. The bird on his cheek never removed it's gaze from her, either. They both seemed transfixed with her, even in the light of their death. The Damnation on his cheek began to fade from an inky black to a feathered white, it's wings stilled in mid-flight as the life of it's Damned slipped from it. Before the movement of the bird stilled completely, though, the lips of the boy moved in a manner that caught the girl's attention.

_Thank you._

Her eyes stared at those now blue lips that were curled into a smile. She couldn't bring herself to look at the other four men, whose faces were so different from the boy's. While theirs were laced with pain and anguish, his was of joy. His elated expression was frozen on his face as was his Damnation's image. Quietly, the little girl turned to her mother as the people behind them began to chatter and disperse.

"Mami?" Her voice was small, a light accent upon her words.

"Yes, my dear?" Her mother had watched the scene between her daughter and the man in disgruntlement.

"Why did they kill the boy and his little birdie?" She asked.

"Because," The older woman said slowly, "there is no room in this world for the Damned." The child's mother began to herd her away from the men who still hung from the ropes. The child protested slightly, transfixed with the face of the boy. After being chided she finally looked up at her mother in distress as she was led away.

_No room..? But they were both so small_, she thought.

* * *

Hurhurr. The first chapter and I already killed someone. Lovely, no? The little girl is not random, either. Cookies to whoever can guess who she is correctly.

Anywho. This story has been swimming in my head for a week or so, and I finally decided to write it. I'm very nervous about continuing. This is my first Fanfiction, and I have no clue what I'm doing. My friend says it's okay (but almost overly detailed), but it's not helping much. Please, help out a bit? The way I write is strange, and grammar doesn't come easily to me.

Criticism is worshiped LOL.

Also, tell me if I should continue or not. ;w;

Until We Meet Again~


	2. Glossary

I know, I know. It's no fun, but I've made a glossary for the story to avoid confusion. I might update it as the story goes to keep everyone informed and up-to-date with the terms used in the story.

_**It is highly suggested that you read**_**_ this to it's full extent._** I am not the best with describing things within a story setting, so it is best to get the facts from here. Sorry for the inconvenience.

* * *

_GLOSSARY of The Beaten and The Damned_

**Damned:** A human being that was marked with a gift given by the 'gods'. It's a dominant genetic trait that give a human being powers beyond physical and scientific knowledge. In this story, the Damned are prosecuted because they are seen as violent beasts/animals, and are not viewed as humans (despite being so).

**Damnation:** A black ink-like picture/image depicted on the skin of the Damned. The image itself can come in a variety of forms but is mostly naturalistic. It's the embodiment of the genetic gifted to the Damned. If one of the parents bares a Damnation, their children have a 85% chance of inheriting this trait. If both parents have the gene the chances of inheritance increases to 98%.

**Broken:** A term given to the Damned that have been brainwashed/controlled by the King. Their eyes do not have pupils, and they do not express any emotion. The person will have no memory of their life before being controlled.

**Beaten:** A term given to the Damned that have been kept as pets. Only people of noble status can obtain one, and they are kept as a hush-hush from the general public to prevent an uproar.

**'Stable' Damnation:** A Damnation that does not move frequently or in large amounts. It has been documented that stable Damnation tend to be weaker in power than their unstable (read below) counterparts.

**'Unstable' Damnation:** A Damnation that moves freely across the skin of it's Damned. This can very from constant moving to relocating entirely. They have been documented to be more powerful than their stable counterparts.

**Imprint:** A part of the Damnation gene. It is triggered by a specific human being, and is said to be the Damned's mate. The power of an imprint is unknown to scientists. The bond disregards gender and race.


	3. Chapter 1

Some pointed out grammar errors fixed, 9/8/13.

More fixes, 10/18/13.

* * *

"Such a lovely day isn't it,_ mon ami_?" Francis mused over the noises of the market. Salesmen bellowed over each other in the attempt to draw customers to their stalls with their over-used, everyday slogans. The people in the street crowded together in small groups and chattered amongst one another in a lazy fashion, their voices molded and fused together in the air like a mixing bowl with individual voices unrecognizable to Antonio's ears. The small stands were crowded with people of every variety; fat, tall, skinny, fair, and beastly. All the faces that flickered into his vision were soon forgotten as he made his way through the bustling streets. Antonio chuckled as he narrowly missed colliding into a little girl bowling her way through the crowd screaming for her mother with a tear-stained face. He shuffled to the right to avoid her, accidentally bumping into a young man. He quickly apologized before he glanced back over to Francis.

"_Si, amigo._ It is lovely." He adjusted a large sack of grain on his shoulder. The rough fabric of the frayed sack dug into his shoulder, yet he ignored the pain in order to keep pace with his bounding friend. Francis continued to skip through the people with grace. Francis slowed his pace as they passed a stall littered in an array with fabrics, before idly gesturing to a peculiar fabric hanging from the top of the wooden frame of the stand.

"Ahh, maybe we could buy some fabric for_ la belle dame_," Francis looked over his shoulder at Antonio with an eyebrow cocked, "she would look gorgeous in this color, no?"

Antonio grinned at him as he walked over to his side, "That_ 'lovely lady'_ kicked your ass the last time you bought something that was not on the list, _amigo_. I don't think it'd be the best idea," he said as he shifted the weight of the bag again, "maybe you should ask before you buy it?"

Francis sighed, glancing longingly at the expensive fabric once more. His eyes seemed to ravage the fabric of every detail in a glazed fashion, almost as if daydreaming of his wife in a dress lined with the silk thread. Slowly, he pulled himself from his cluttered mind and tossed his hair over his shoulder.

"I hate it when you're right," Francis whined to him. Antonio just shrugged and continued to grin, enjoying the chance to be out and around. The sights, the sounds, the feeling of air on his flesh all enticed him. They beckoned for him with an alluring finger, and he felt himself restlessly gazing his eyes upon the crowd of people that surged around him. He had been going half mad from staying around at the tavern. It was like a wooden prison- even Joan's endless amount of chores couldn't sate his boredom and need for interaction. He craved to be out and about and to chatter with people. To feel the sun on his skin. It was all so exciting and mesmerizing, he wondered if he'd meet anyone new today... His attention snapped back to Francis as he cleared his throat.

"We still need lettuce, a new set of plates to replace the ones that crazed old woman broke last week, and wine. Especially that rhubarb kind Joan has a love for." He informed.

Antonio nodded, "I'll get the wine."

Francis shrugged, handing him a paper strewn with tallies and lists of extravagant wines. His friend also dug into his shirt pocket to produce a fat envelope, tossing it sloppily from between his fingers at Antonio.

_"Soyez rapide_," Francis called over his shoulder while he turned;_ Be fast_, "We have to meet up with Gilbert and Elliott today. They said it was very urgent- it's _business_."

Antonio froze in the crowd. He watched Francis walk in the direction of the food stall, caught off guard by the hidden message that laid nuzzled into the word. As he stuffed the envelope in his pocket, he replayed the last word throughout his mind.

'Business.'

It took a moment of rolling the thought around in his head before he realized the implication. A click went off somewhere in his mind. He knew the business they were talking of. His grin grew wider at his revelation; they were going to discuss work of the Black Parade. The underground resistance against the government. He closed his eyes. In a slight movement he breathed in the crisp, morning air. It filled his lungs with a chilling blast, the shiver riveted through his body. The Resistance. It was dangerous 'business'. Treason against the King was punishable by death. One who went against the King was to be discarded of. How could he resist it, though? He was the reason Antonio's life was the way it was. Miserable. Caged. Confined.

All because he was born with a gift.

His breath left him in a heated rush of air.

The Damnation on his arm curled in delight at the thought of the Black Parade. The thought of resisting the King's orders and wishes gave it pleasure. Its hatred for the King burned on his skin like an enraged fire; it twisted and turned, burning with agony and rebellion. Its contempt for the King was equal it Antonio's. Whether it absorbed the feelings from him or if it came to the conclusion on its own was unclear, but what was clear was the iced over fear.

Antonio's eyes shot open. Stiffly, he turned in the direction of the winery and began to stumble forward through the crowd. His Damnation knew better than to move around when they were in public.

_If we got caught..._, a small voice in his head murmured,_ we'd be hanged by an awaiting executioner._

His Damnation stilled at the thought. It laid to rest on the soft skin on the left side of his chest. The flesh above his heart was tainted with the black image; The Damnation reached from his chest across to his left arm's elbow. He let out a breath he was unaware he had kept trapped in his lungs when he felt it relax. His inner turmoil went unnoticed by the faces that passed him, all of their minds too fixated with their own thoughts and worries to give him even a fleeting thought. He was silently grateful of their bliss. Those faces, so unimportant to anyone else, dictated his life. If any curious eyes flickered his way, even for a moment, could spell his death. Their gaze would be the coils of the noose, and their screams would be the air beneath his feet. His thoughts buzzed against the sides of his mind, all the images and feelings assaulted him at once.

In a daze, he turned off the crowded street. Antonio stretched his legs, feeling cramped from walking in such short strides. The cobblestone streets were uneven under his feet, but he relished the sensation. The feeling of his legs taking bigger and bigger steps filled him with renewed excitement of being outside. The thoughts of his Damnation left his mind for a moment, and he felt his pace pick up in speed and a rush of utter contentment spread throughout his body. Soon he was dashing down the street with the bag of grain still tossed over his shoulder, his smile wide and pure. The air blew against his face, filling his ears with a roar. A laugh bubbled up in his chest. Being out in town was becoming more and more rare- he hadn't been into the city for over 2 months. It was exhilarating to see the people, smell the smells and see the sights. He ran down the alleyways, people stared as he passed them in a giggling blur, but he couldn't care less. His laughter rang off the sides of the buildings and echoed down the streets.

He dodged and twisted past people, yelping out apologizes as he ran. For once, their stares meant nothing to him. Antonio felt the laughter rush from his mouth while his eyes pricked with tears. This was what he wanted. Running wild, feeling the sun on his skin from an early morning sun, the sounds of the city and laughter lashing at his ears. _Freedom. Privilege._ His adrenaline pulsed through him as a older man pulled a cart full of cabbages out in front of him. Without thinking, he felt his feet leave the cobblestone street as he lept. He barely fit through the gap between the top of the cart and the vegetables; toppling the top cabbage to the dirtied street. His burst of laughter continued as he heard the old man's voice shriek out after his figure. He zigzagged throughout the streets, the signs' of stores and peoples' faces passed without recognition before coming to a notably quiet street. Its cobblestone that lined the street were even, unlike the hazardously bumpy ones from behind him. The street was lined with shops, many having glass displays in the front to boast its wares and sales. Their paint was fresh and unpeeled on the sides of the structures, and the street was cleared of trash. Antonio slowed his running to admire the trinkets in the windows. They were of lavishing qualities and high prices, and he felt out of place in his dirty faded-white work shirt and plain black pants, tucked under his dull brown work boots. Self consciously, he quickly leaned into a nearby window to wipe a smudge of his olive toned skin. He tousled his hair before he continued his way down the street.

He stopped in front of a particularly large building. His panting slowed as he looked through the window. Gently, he pushed the door, regaining his stolen breath. He was met with a bells chime against the old wooden door. Stained wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, matching the wooden floor and counter tops. The cool air buzzed around him and gifted him with goosebumps to the exposed skin on his neck. Walls covered in pictures of vineyards and shelves with massive varieties of wine met his eyes as he took a step in. The owner of the winery was prosperous, it was painfully obvious in the interior design of the building; it practically screamed_ 'filthy rich bastard!'_. It was a beautiful nonetheless. He looked over the tables where a few couples were seated and over to a familiar face standing behind the counter.

"Ahh, Antonio! You don't show your face around here often. Mostly it's just Francis or Joan," Alfred bellowed, " 'Ya here to help out Mrs. Bonnefoy in need of her special wine again?"

Antonio chuckled as he headed towards the counter, setting the forgotten bag of grains on the floor beside him. A few people looked over at the boisterous blond behind the counter in sore irritation.

"I'm afraid so. There's been some rough weeks as of late, and all of our wine stock has seemed to disappear." He said with a lopsided shrug.

"How strange! It must've all grown legs and walked off," Alfred said with a wink. Antonio grinned at him with mock pity in his voice, "I'm afraid so."

"Ahah. Do'ya have the order down? I'll get you guys back in shape!"

Antonio nodded, handing the blond the list and pulled the envelope out of his pocket, setting it on the counter smoothly. Alfred pulled out a pair of glasses from a pocket in his apron, sliding it on his face in a practiced motion. He set the envelope on a shelf behind him before he focused his attention to the list. He gently brushed his hair back as he read the inked words.

"My, my. You guys really are running low. This is a pretty big order. Are ya'guys planning on picking it up later tonight, or would you like this all shipped to the Nine Ales?"

"We were hoping to bring in the wagon sometime after supper." Antonio responded while he leaned his elbows on the counter, his face strung up in a crooked grin. Alfred clasped his hands together and adjusted his glasses, "I'll see what I can do for ya!" Antonio nodded a thank you before he shifted his weight to the opposite foot. The mouse-like chatter behind him was a sweet noise in the cold air of the winery, he could've fell asleep leaning against the counter. His ears duly noted the sound of the swinging door as Alfred pushed his way to the back of the building. His energy from earlier was sapped into the calming surroundings while his mind wandered.

In replay, his mind reviewed the day; the morning sun on his face, the light bickering between Joan and Francis in the kitchen, the bountiful breakfast they had before Joan sent Francis and him off with a list of chores. He had been surprised that he was requested to go. Normally the three of them avoided putting him in harms way with the risk of being caught, but as of late the tavern was in need of more and more hands. Business was bustling; and the amount of work was becoming troublesome. The help was greatly needed. He sighed through his nose, lifting his hand to brush his hand along his neck. He shifted his weight again, and rested his head in his hand. Maybe he could take a nap...

A voice rose above the rest of the customers, and Antonio shifted his head to look over his shoulder. A little distractedly, he tried to direct his drifting attention to the noise. His Damnation pricked at his skin, probing him to be alert. His flesh crawled with an uneasy sensation- like bugs had burrowed under his skin and were running rampant. Something wasn't right. His eyes fluttered around the winery's dining room to the big window at the front of the building. Outside stood a soldier who was dressed in red and gold, his eyes cold and calculating. That wasn't anything to get worked up about. Soldiers were littered throughout the city like rats in sewers. Confusion shifted onto his face, dragging his eye onto a figure behind him. The little boy who stood behind him was barely half the soldiers height and looked unbefitting in the miniature copy of the soldiers uniform. His eyes were blank slates.

_A Broken,_ the silent recognition took a moment to sink into his sluggish mind, but his Damnation reacted instantly. It coiled violently upwards towards his chest, trying to make itself as small as possible on his body. The skin it left behind felt heated and scratched, and Antonio cursed himself quietly for the wince he made at the slight pain. The reaction jolted him awake from his relaxed stupor. The little boy bore a exceedingly obvious Damnation around his neck. It depicted a dog, its body wrapped around the little boy's neck and disappeared under the uniform that bore the mark of the King. The dog was shifting its head back and forth wildly as if it were searching for something. A cold chill went down Antonio's spine as he realized it was. It had picked up his scent; It was looking for him.

_Well fuck,_ he thought uselessly. He shouldn't have caused such a commotion earlier. What had he been thinking, running throughout the streets like that and calling so much attention to himself? Antonio looked at the people who were rested in the winery. Their attention was fully on the boy, most likely the first version of a Damnation any of them had seen. Their eyes were wide in curiosity at the inked figure on the boy's neck. Panic rose in his chest as he glanced back at the child.

His face held no expression, his eyes didn't even have pupils. He shuddered at the thought of being a Broken. He relished what life he was able to have; to breath, and to have his own thoughts and mind. If the King's men ever caught him he hoped with all his being they'd kill him, and not make him into a Broken. The Broken were no longer able to think for themselves; they lost their spirit and individualism. While he wasn't as free to live as he wanted, he still cherished what he had. His life was like a dying rose in the middle of winter; he wished for a luscious bush with plump red petals and the deep green painted leaves cradling it; but he loved what little there was, because it was better than a brown wilted rose with a broken stem.

Antonio looked around feverishly for a way to leave without being noticed. The Broken's Damnation had found his scent; its eyes darted back and forth, the fur on its back bristled as it began to bark silently in the glass window. The boy's head pivoted to look at the winery's entrance. Antonio gazed over at the back door he'd seen Alfred enter moments earlier before he picked up the grain bag and swiftly made his way around the counter. His Damnation continued to twitch and spasm lightly, its worry and his mixed together dangerously. With silent footsteps his body slid behind the counter as he made a straight walk for the door. He gently pushed it open with his foot, quietly thanking that the hinges didn't creak. Slowly, he eased himself and the bag of grain passed the door and into large dark room filled with walkways lined in stacked barrels.

Antonio peeked around the barrel closest to him to see Alfred in the back arguing with one of the staff. Their loud voices echoed down the long hallways as the two bickered angrily with each other about which box went where. The wine bottles clattered in the boxes as they were jerked back and forth between the two. He mustered as much stealth as he could as he walked towards a wall to the right crowded with shelves of wine bottles. His hushed footsteps were strained against the cold, unforgiving floor. Never in his life had he been this terrified, he subconsciously realized. The polar air of the elongated wine cellar made the dim-lit room feel like a cave. A few candles were lit on the floor, but most of them were already a molten heap of wax. Their light made the shadows seem tall and haunting as they rocked back and forth at the flickering of the small flames. His head twisted back and forth in any sign of an escape. His pace faltered when he finally spotted a door on the back wall.

_I refuse to be caught,_ his mind blazed. The Damnation over his heart stretched at the thought and flooded him with vigor to walk faster. It spread down his left arm to rest snug beneath the cuff of his shirt. In swift strides, Antonio reached for the handle of the door in relief. He twisted the knob and leaned the shoulder free of the sack into the door, opening it to the summer air. As he slipped out of the building and into the sun-lit alley out back he could still hear the sounds of the argument. A particularly loud comment was punctuated with the sound of glass shattering and cursing. He smiled at the sound and leaned against the door.

_It'll be easy to lose them now_, he judged with satisfaction.

Antonio made his way past the dust covered boxes that littered the alley before coming out into a wide opening. The lively street teemed with the voices of the mob of people. Gracefully, he slipped into the crowd. He made his way through, zigzagging as much as he could without calling attention to himself. At one point he passed a stall that was filled with perfumes. With fake interest, he told the pudged lady at the stand he was wanting to buy his lover some of her product. Soon she had showered him with different kinds, informing him of the ingredients and feedback that they've received from other customers. She seemed particularly tickled that a man had stopped at her stall and couldn't stop giggling. Once he deemed himself covered in the sharp smells of the perfumes, he bought one with Joan in mind. He'd have to tell her why he used some of the tavern's money on a little perfume, but he knew she'd understand.

He left the giggling saleswoman with a warm farewell and began to head towards the heart of the market. After finding a bench in all the commotion, he sat down and scanned the crowd for Francis.

_Surely he's bought everything else... But then again, the man is very social,_ he mused as he set the sack of grain on the ground and the little box with the newly-bought perfume on his lap. He continuously scanned the crowd for Francis's or the boy's face. The muscles in his body contracted every time he thought he saw the little pupil-less boy. His mind was playing tricks on him, and his Damnation protested every time he tensed. Antonio stretched at his aching muscles and leaned back. His mind turned back to the little boy he'd seen and wondered if he truly did lose them. If Francis did not show up soon, he'd head for home himself. For a while he sat and watched people pass. The faces varied from young to old, beautiful to ugly, and innocent to perverted. His body seemed to melt against the bench as his beating heart finally slowed. He'd lost them.

"_Je vous ai trouvé,_ Toni~!"

Antonio yelped as Francis snuck up behind him and smacked his hands on his friend's shoulders.

_I found you._

"Aren't you a jumpy one today?" Francis reported in slight interest.

Antonio's face pulled down from his carefree smile to a faint frown. The relaxation drained instantly as he was reminded of the little boy. Francis cocked his eyebrows in curiosity. He looked down at his friend for a moment before shrugging and throwing a hand over his shoulder casually.

"Help Franny carry these heavy plates back to the wagon, would you?"

* * *

"This place is so lovely," Francis murmured dreamily. Antonio just grinned and looked around for their two friends. The café was small, but airy. There was a small bakery mixed into the building with the freshly made bread sitting proudly underneath glass lids. Cakes, cupcakes, strudels and other pastries were lined up along a counter to the left while tables and chairs were to the right. Customers enjoyed their food and drink while they chatted amongst each other, the air was stuffed with the sounds of eating and laughter. Finally, he picked out his friend's sitting all the way towards the back. Antonio elbowed Francis lightly and nodded in the direction of their friends.  
"What the fuck took you guys so long?" Gilbert grumbled.

"Ahh, Toni here ran into some, err, trouble-" Francis started but Antonio cut him off,

"-But it's nothing to worry about. There was no harm done, so there is no need to dwell on it," he stated as he sat down across from Elliott. Elliott stared at him with in suspicion, "What kind of trouble?"

Antonio leaned over slightly and muttered under his breath to keep the words from falling into unwanted ears,

"A Broken."

Gilbert and Elliot tensed, but Francis simply sighed.

" 'Nothing to worry about'?" Elliott hissed back in irritation, some of his longer brown hair falling over his green eyes as he leaned onto the table, _"Hazug!" Liar!_

"I'm alright now, I got away without a scratch. It'll be fine," he said in a cheery voice, completely missing the dark look that settled on Elliott's face.

"How long will you be content with running away?"

He didn't miss the poison in his friend's words.

Antonio looked down at the hands in his lap. He felt his Damnation shift at the blazing anger and guilt that was coursing through his body. He hated running, he hated hiding, he hated having to wear long sleeve shirts to seal his Damnation from prying eyes. He hated it with a passion. That was one of the reasons his friends and him had originally formed the Black Parade. Francis wasn't a Damned, but Joan was, and so was Elliott and Gilbert. They wanted to be able to fight back, and to face the things they were supposed to cower from. They all wanted the same thing; peace of mind. The constant fear of being caught was agonizing. It ate away at them like rotting wood. Their minds were decayed down to nothing more than the word 'when'. When would they find them? Would it be a silent arrest hidden from the city's prying eyes in a darkened alley, or in the heart of the market for everyone's gaze to feast upon? Would it be someone's scream that gave away what they were? A blood curdling scream that would ring off the buildings and echo in the ears of everyone near. Would it be a tip to the soldiers? A light sleep in the dead of night interrupted by the kicked down door, the sound of yelling blasting through walls and soldiers' feet on a wooden floor?

The thoughts constantly flooded their minds, and seeped despair into the deepest cracks of their bodies. He wanted nothing more than to wear a short-sleeved shirt, despite his Damnation. To roll up sleeves and to let the sun hit the black inked skin of his mark was all he wanted, and wanted to do without the fear. Fear was what controlled and made up the fabric of their lives. If it wasn't fear, it was anger. Anger at the people who made you hide what you were, who you are. It wasn't his fault he had been born this way.

"Not long," he responded in a quiet breath.

Elliott sighed and sat back in his chair. He lifted his hands to untie and smooth out his shoulder-length hair, before re-tying it again- a nervous habit of his. His bangs fell back into his face as his hands rested back down on the table.

"We have business tonight," Gilbert pipped up, his snow-white hair bobbed lightly on his head when he rested his chin in his hand, "A little birdie told me that the hawks have gotten some new prey, and to hell with it all if they're not going to share it."

_The soldiers in the city have more information on us, and we need to retrieve it._

All three of them nodded, showing they understood what Gilbert had meant.

Antonio felt his Damnation shiver on his chest with delight, its long tendons grew down his left arm slightly. Nervousness was met at the movement, fear that his Damnation could be seen caused him to pull his long sleeve down a little further. Elliott's Damnation had been stable; it was a strange little mouse that rested on his right thigh was dormant and reasonably still. Antonio's, on the other hand, was constantly moving. It shifted and changed endlessly like a raging river, and never satisfied with staying motionless for too long. His Damnation was restless on his chest and arm. Elliott's little Damnation moved very little in comparison to his.

It carried and stretched recklessly; it disregarded anyone and anything it pleased. He'd found that if his Damnation wanted to, it could cover every inch of his body. The black inked Damnation could grow and spread across every plain, nook and cranny of his body. No matter how much he covered his skin, the flesh was still at risk of being invaded and presenting the mark he tried to hide. He was under the will of his Damnation- it had a mind of its own. He really did come up short with this particular Damnation. It wasn't foolish, though. It actually was very observant, more so than him, and they tended to agree with one another. He felt his Damnation soften at his thoughts, almost as if it were try to apologize to him. Antonio guessed they were friends that had been forced into the same body. Or allies, fighting the same battle together side by side. In an odd way, it was comforting. While the Damnation could rebel and make his life hell, it chose to stay cooperative. Friends. Allies. It was a peculiar thought to have a relationship with an image on his body.

The others shifted in their seats uncomfortably. The thought of a mission loomed over them like a storm ready to strike. Black Parade missions were always dangerous. One of them could die tonight, in retrospect. People that have been sent out on these missions have died before, losing their lives to the soldiers, being hanged for treason, or for the discovery of being a Damned. Or a combination of the three. Even in light of the Black Parade, Antonio felt like the Damned couldn't win. There was so much against them at this point in time. Children were taught to fear them, then grew up with the hatred for the Damned instilled into them. It was all about manipulation, it seemed. He felt himself shudder. His gaze flickered over his friend's faces, each held their own grimace. He hated seeing them like this...

"So," Antonio said, a childish smile pulled the strings of his face up as he rested his head in hands, "How've you two been doing?" Instantly, the tense atmosphere cracked. In all honesty, Antonio could 'read the atmosphere' very well, he just chose to ignore it and play dumb.

… A lot.

His Damnation twitched in mild amusement.

Okay, maybe he wasn't the best at it, but he was still capable! Stupid Damnation. What did it know?

Elliott rolled his eyes and puffed out his cheeks,

"Dumb ass over here forgot to pay the landlord. Again."

"I did not!" Gilbert squawked back.

"Why did you ask to move in, then? Do you really love me and Rosine?"

"To hell with you and that stuffy woman! I just... just don't have the money at the moment!" he pouted, glaring down at the table in defeat. They all laughed and continued to chat. Light subjects came and left quickly as their attention was pulled in different directions. Gossip, the weather, how Francis was bombarded by the deranged old lady that had broken their plates at the tavern last week. The conversation mostly consisted of Gilbert and Elliott arguing, Antonio laughing at them, and Francis inserting every sexual innuendo he could come up with. After Gilbert and Elliot had been bickered for a particularly long period of time, Antonio had let a small thought of his slip out of his lips.

"You two act like an old married couple." He instantly regretted the little comment. The two looked across the table at their friend, Gilbert's face a flushed red and Elliott's twisted in amusement.  
"And you would know this? Sorry_ drágám,_" _dear_, Elliott pipped , "You're the only one here who hasn't got someone at home. You haven't even imprinted on anyone yet." Antonio's face turned bright red, so much so that his ear tips turned their own shade of scarlet. He brought his hands in front of him and waved them frantically as he tried to diffuse the topic.

"Th-that has nothing to do with it! Never mind!"

"No! Let's talk about Toni's sex life!" Francis cheered eagerly around a muffin he had bought earlier.

"What is there to talk about?" Gilbert teased.

Antonio groaned and hid his face in his arms on the table. He hated talking about this. Imprinting was ingrained into them, the Damned did not get to choose who they loved. It was just another thing they had no control over. Normally a Damned would find their 'mate' at a young teenage age. Around 15 years old, or maybe 20 at the oldest, he guessed. But now, at the age of 23, Antonio had yet to imprint on anyone. He had yet to find his mate. His friends, especially Elliott, loved to tease him about his lack of discovery in the particular area.

Once he had mustered up the courage to ask Elliott what it had been like to finally meet his mate, he had told him something that didn't quite make sense;  
"_It was like a wildfire in my heart, and I was soaring through the clouds. It felt like a drug's high. Never had I felt so much emotion. And, even to this day, that feeling lingers_," Elliot had murmured.

Antonio felt his chest tighten. His heart hung heavy in his chest. It felt like an iron ball, hung up only by the chains that were his veins. His luck in love was nothing; he was at the bottom of a river with rushing waters made of solitude, weighed down by the weight of his heart. He felt helpless and drowned. No air, no way out. The water of the river flooded his body and dragged him deeper into the abyss. There was no choice in the matter; he could not fall in love on his own accord. Those feelings were restrained in him like a caged animal until the one with the key graced him. He was heavy with the drowned feeling; it consumed him. He wanted nothing more than to break the surface of the water, but it was useless. His Damnation wilted, feeling the emotions at full blast. He'd always hated being alone. The feeling smothered him. He was naturally a loving person- all he was missing was someone to love. For him to love, he needed someone to love. His Damnation only amplified the sensation when it shriveled up his arm. It craved for their mate, their key to the surface.

"C'mon guys," he mumbled through his sleeve, lips pressed against the spot his Damnation had been a moment before, "_No quiero hablar de eso_."

_I don't want to talk about it._

* * *

Antonio's feet drifted over the rocks that lined the stream's side and rock-bed. Slowly, he dipped his toes into the lukewarm waters; it rippled around them as the flow was interrupted by the action. He felt his Damnation grow impatient on his arm as it flickered in anticipation. With a sigh, he reached for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them in a hesitant fashion. He eyed the water timidly. His eyes took their time scanning the surroundings before he continued to undress. After the last button was undone, he lowered his shoulders and slid his old white work-shirt onto the rocky banks. His Damnation flexed at the feeling of the night air. He looked down at the black ink image with a ghost's smile. It painted the picture of a vined thistle, its needles brushing against the muscles along his arm with pointed flowers dotted along the stems. The black color of the lines contrasted with his skin- black ink against an olive canvas.

He continued to squirm out of his pants, left with the cool air of the night against his flesh. Moonlight trickled through the overhanging trees and onto the stream like silver petals. Nervousness bubbled inside of him as he glanced at the water. Slight terror rose in his chest as Antonio dipped one of his feet into the water deliberately. He was terrified of water; the way it consumed everything in it's path, the way it smothered anything under a strong current. After such an eventful day, though, he felt it was the best to bathe and relax his aching body. His Damnation stretched eagerly for the water, it's vines growing down to his fingertips and across his chest. He closed his eyes and glided into the lazily shifting waters stiffly.

The pleasure his Damnation gave off was immense. It curled against the touch of the water as it relished the feeling of it sloshing across the image, consuming more of his skin, tainting it with the leaves and flower it sprung. Every one of the needles across its appearance shivered in delight. He rested against the bottom of the stream-bed, feeling the water come up to his shoulders. It flowed and brushed against him leaving no surface untouched. He reached over to the cloth and soap on the bank in rigid movements before he began to wash himself, trying his best to keep his mind off the water.

The mission was tonight; they were told to meet near the shore on the south side of the city. Information; documents of value were in possession of the government, and for whatever reason, Gilbert wanted them. _ It must be important. He usually doesn't call Francis and I for such a small mission,_ he mused. Stealing was petty and easy. What was so urgent?

He was quickly jolted out of his thoughts as his Damnation skimmed across his neck. Calmly, it came up the bottom of his chin and crawled up to touch the side of his lips. He smiled lightly at the action. He brought the cloth up over the vine on his face, giggling at the sensation it made as the Damnation entwined at the soft touch. It reached for the cloth on his skin in curiosity. It's curiosity burned his cheek and alighted it in a dusted red as it continued to strain for the cloth that was held against his skin. In slight irritation the vine slithered higher on his cheek and bloomed a needle-pointed flower. Again, it strained against his skin to touch the small cloth. The want of his Damnation made his cheek ache at the effort it made. Antonio let out a slight gasp as it reached past his skin.

The vine materialized beyond his cheek in a ghostly, see-through limb. A dull yellow glow marred the vine as it curled around his fingers holding the cloth. The needles grazed across his flesh as the vine gently brought the hand across his cheek. The cloth was soft on his cheek; and he closed his eyes as his Damnation returned his gesture from earlier. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was asking a question. It was a mute sound- one a feather would make as it hit the ground, unheard but still present.

_'Who would want to kill something so innocent?'_ it asked sorrowfully, it's silenced noise drifting farther from the realms of his thoughts. Antonio gingerly lifted his hand to the transparent vine. His eyes were transfixed by the modestly-glowing light, it's deadly needles poised to protect. In a motherly motion, he caressed the petals that aligned the pale yellow flower.

"Someone who does not understand," he breathed. Why he answered the minute thought, he didn't know. Somewhere in him came an emotion, whether it be in his body, heart, or soul, alight like the flame on a candle. The little vine that bloomed from him was no harm. It did not deserve to die, nor did he. At the thought of death the Damnation shriveled, coiling farther around his hand. He frowned at the fear that flashed in the Damnation. It reminded him of a child hiding under the bed sheets in horror from a streak of lightning. The fear of death was far from childish, but somehow it was befitting to the feeling: innocent, clueless and helpless. Out of instinct he stroked the flower with the tips of his fingers, his voice akin to a mother whispering comfort to her young from a frightening storm in the dead of night,

_"I'll protect you."_

* * *

Holy crap. It's almost 12:30 in the morning here, but I felt like I should really finish this. Again, sorry for my writing style and horrid grammar. I don't know if it shows, but I have a strange habit of spelling things the British way, so if you catch any of that please do inform me. I still feel like I don't know what I'm doing when I write. I'm trying my best guys, I swear it. ;-; EXPECT MOST CHAPTERS TO BE THIS LENGTH.

R & R, polite criticism is highly accepted!

Until We Meet Again.


	4. Chapter 2

Some pointed out grammar errors fixed, 9/9/13.

* * *

The horses' hooves beat mercilessly against the cobblestone. The sounds bounded along the ill-lit alley they charged down, echoing into the black shadows without a trace. Forgotten boxes and trash was scattered along the backs of the buildings, left to rot on the dusted over street. Antonio leaned towards the horse's mane, his thighs tight against the beast's sides. The leather reins were clutched in his right hand as he used the other as a support to his weight. The frigid air roared past his ears at the breakneck pace he had set, stirring the aged dust along the street. The mane of the horse tickled his nose and cheeks, but his attention went beyond the sensation to his hair; the auburn locks picked and poked at his eyes, much to his annoyance. He shook his head to keep the unruly tresses from blinding him.

Emerald orbs flickered over to his side when another figure brushed into his vision. Francis rode beside him in a black silhouette- his face and body indistinguishable from the horse. He was positioned in a similar stance as Antonio, but with his longer hair strung up and whipping behind him. Francis let out a low whistle over the clatter of the hooves, and swung his head to his right to signal a turn. Antonio grunted and tugged on the mare's leather reins. The horse whinnied as its head jerked backwards at the sudden movement. Their pace lagged until the horses were at a brisk jog, then directed down another alley to their right. The buildings that lined the street stretched high above their heads, the bright yellows and burned reds were tinted black by the lack of light. He strained his neck back to look at them, his gaze scanned for any unwanted eyes.

No lights illuminated from the windows that were along the buildings' sides; no one stood upon the balconies that jutted from the structures. All was silent, except for the horses' feet and the mice that stirred throughout the forgotten belongings that laid on the dirtied cobblestones. A single window was left open to let in the frost kissed air, its drapes being dragged out by the breeze. Its white silk flowed ominously beyond the window sill; a ghost waving farewell as the two silhouettes pasted. Lines were strung between the balconies in a lazy fashion. They connected the buildings, their presence like a vine on an old oak tree. Laundry swung suspended high above his head across a few of the lines, fluttering in the wind slightly. He looked past the clothes and rooftops in awe. The night sky was a black ink canvas that bled stars onto its surface. No cloud tainted it, no light touched it, and the soaring buildings that lined the street could not reach it. The night sky was pure; untouched. Not even the moon dared stray from its den to stain the black abyss. No clouds, no lights and no moon.

It was the perfect night for treason.

Antonio's Damnation crawled down his arm and along his hand, filling each individual finger with a vine under his black leather glove. Its anxiety flowed with his as they rode down the alleyway, each clack of the beasts hooves bringing them closer to the place they were to gather with the others. He flinched when a ragged feline jumped from behind a pile of strewn papers, a mouse screaming from its jaws. The leaflets scattered as the cat darted off into the shadows along the building, but even after the cat molded into the shadows the mouse's scream was left behind. The noise rang in his ears and down the shadowed alley. He shuddered at the sound. He jerked in alarm in his saddled when Francis let out another whistle, this time sharper. The sound caused the horse to buck its head slightly, ears flickering and eyes darting towards Francis.

His silhouette gestured towards a narrow opening between two ancient brick buildings. Antonio nodded and gently pulled the reins of the horse. Slowly, they maneuvered the two horses along the gap. He felt the sides of his black boots brush against the buildings' sides. He ducked to avoid a cobweb that was sewn with a spider's thread, the string spread between the walls of the building in delicate white lines. Dew droplets glittered duly off of the thin strings, rattling and shaking as the horse's steps sent tremors through the sides of the buildings. The dew reflected the light at the end of the gap; the end of the narrow lane was lit by a single lantern and a familiar figure grasping the handle. An amused smirk was illuminated on Elliott's face as Francis's body emerged from the darkness. His blond hair turned into a golden crown against the lantern's orange light, his face uncharacteristically stoic. The shadows across his skin made his years in life more eminent, their dark slopes outlining what youth life had taken from him. He continued past Elliott without a glance,

"Sorry for the delay. We had to help Joan around the tavern," Francis stated in a monotone dialect.

"All is good. You're just on time," Elliott's grin grew wider, "care to give a lift?"

Francis circled around him before offering his hand. Elliott tossed his leg over the horse, letting out a huff of effort as he carried his weight upwards. He straddled its back, clutching Francis's sides to keep from falling.  
"Now, now, don't get frisky," Francis teased as one hand landed on his hip. His face reverted from its detached expression to his more common-placed, perverse grin and glittering eyes.

Elliott snorted, "In your dreams old man."

Antonio emerged from the shadows with his signature smile, his eyes alight like green flames. Francis's pale blue eyes met Antonio's as he cocked an eyebrow in a competitive gesture. He was rewarded with a cheeky smile, Antonio's eyebrows bowing down as he clutched the reins tighter.

_"¡Vamos!" Let's go!_

With a crack of the reins, they were flying down the streets once again. The ride was silent; the air hung with a suspense atmosphere akin to that of a murder. Behind the smiles were the thoughts of dread and nervousness. This mission, despite being petty theft, was still dangerous. Antonio kept his grip tight on the leather reins, his smile fading at the dark thoughts. His Damnation grazed over his hand. He felt needles caress the skin below the vines like a hand over his, patting it in a loving fashion. It bloomed four flower beneath his black-clad shirt, and while he couldn't see their petals, he felt them flourish. They stretched and grew wildly across his chest, sprouting vines full of vigor. Four flowers. Four friends. He smiled dimly at the Damnation's actions, understanding its intention. He closed his eyes briefly, some of the stress streaming from his body. They shot back open, though, when he felt more. It was the slower blossoming of a third flower, it reached up farther on his skin to rest along his collarbone, unlike the others. As it bloomed gently, it sprouted two buds beside it.

_What's that?_ He mused offhandedly as they continued to grow.

The thought quickly dispersed as an arching bridge came into view, the horses taking a sharp turn for the structure. On the bridge was a lone silhouette, the outline of the body scarcely visible against the black ink sky. Elliott's lantern lit the road ahead of them in an orange glaze, illuminating the pillars and railing of the bridge. The hooves' noises were deterred on the wood and made a more hollowed thunk versus the sharp clatter of the cobblestone. Antonio loosened the reins and gave signal for the mare to slow, her nose flaring from slight exhaustion. As the two horses approached the figure, details came into play. Pale skin was the first thing he could make out. The dark-hued clothes they wore accented their lack of color ominously, as if they were a ghost. Familiar tussled white hair shifted as the silhouette notably turned towards them. What stood out the most, though, were scorched bloodied eyes against the black and white surrounds.

Gilbert's face was absorbed into the lantern's light, giving his pale complexion an orange appeal.

"Finally," He growled, his canines flashing slightly, "we need to head out. Our target is out near the cemetery; the grave-digger's house. They're using it to shelter the soldiers that have been passing through lately. There is a document in there that we need."

"That's it?" Francis whined, leaning against the back of the horse's neck with a pout and slumped over posture, "A piece of paper; That's why I can't have my beauty sleep? I need it to keep this suave look, you know."

Elliott snorted, "You'd need to sleep for eternity to be more attractive than a potato, old man."

Francis gave a half-hearted glare over his shoulder before grinning back at Elliott,

"At least my wife doesn't bitch at me day and night so I_ can_ sleep."

Elliott huffed and flipped him off.

"Shut your traps, you two!" Gilbert groaned, rolling his eyes. Antonio chuckled at the exchange, shaking his head.

_Leave it to Elliott to pick a fight,_ his thoughts chirped. His Damnation curled in amusement at the thought, shivering one of the flowers it had bloomed earlier. It tickled his skin, and soon Antonio was sent into a fit of giggles at the sensation, clutching his chest where the flower brushed over his flesh. He leaned into himself in attempt to control the noise, but it slipped past his lips and into the air with ease. The laughter racked his body, shaking him in the saddle almost violently. Tears pricked at his eyes, and threatened to pull over at the feeling. The sensation caused a butterfly-like feeling along his chest.

_Stop it!_ the thought came off as scolding, a mother to her child. The Damnation shivered it once more in rebelliance, drawing another snicker before it rested along his skin once again. He flicked his chest in spite before he attempted to compose himself, taking deep breath to gain the air he had lost. As he sat up in the horse's saddle, he glanced towards his three friends. They all stared at him in wonder, confusion lit upon all their faces. He felt the heat rise up his neck to his cheeks,

"_¿Q-qué?_ My Damna-" Antonio cut off of the word, eyes growing wide as he almost slipped. The light joy from the laughter dissipated into anxiety. He looked around the buildings and two streets the bridge connected, fear settling into his body. No soul emanated from the shadows of the ill-lit streets or structures, but the damage was done. His mind reeled. He cleared his throat before continuing, "_It_ was… uh, messing with me." The heat on his cheeks grew as the Damnation stretched in amusement.

"It can mess with you?" Gilbert muttered in disturbance, "I'm glad mine is stable. Yours is just plain weird, man."

"No, I think Toni's weird, too," Francis pipped.

Antonio gave a breathy chuckle, adrenaline rushing through his body and putting him on edge. How could he have come so close to saying _that_ so loudly out here? He shivered. What if the streets had been full of people, eyes burning into his body and through the clothes, to the tainted skin he bore? Somewhere in his mind came the voice, the same one that had spoken at the stream. Again, its sound was mute to the world, but held the importance of a judge in the court of law;

_Why do you call it tainted?_ It murmured softly.

His jaw clenched, and his Damnation twitched at the question. Unlike the first time the voice had came to his mind, he didn't answer. He let the question dangle like a dead body with the executioner's noose around its neck, hoping it would get trampled by the other thoughts blazing through his head.

"What is so important about the document?" He asked stiffly, keeping his gaze to the water below as he pulled the horse's rein to the side, facing the horse away from his friends. His back was to them, his eye glazed over with troubled thoughts.

"I will show you once we get it," Gilbert said as he reached for his friends leg, giving it a light pat. Concern pulsed through his red eyes, and eyebrow arched upwards to ask _'Are you okay?'._ Antonio glanced down briefly at his friend before returning his attention to the water once again, a fictitious smile upon his face. He lifted his hand to his friend, shifting forward in the saddle. Gilbert climbed and nestled in behind him, resting his hands on Antonio's sides. He felt Gilbert turn to the other two, gesturing along the waterway before them.

"The cemetery is alongside the lake this water comes from," His voice became accented as he let his mother-tongue take hold, "_Lasst uns gehen._"

_Lets go._

* * *

The gate creaked on its rusted hinges, making Antonio and his Damnation wince. The sound made his stomach turn, like nails raking across his eardrums. Slowly, he pushed the iron gate to the side, the cold metal sending a shiver throughout his body. Fog clung to the air that surrounded him, smothering his eyesight from a vast majority of the crumbled tombstones and cracked angels. They were lined in neat rows that disappeared and molded into the mist. The fog had carried over from the lake it rested besides, drifting over the graveyard like a blanket. His breath left him as his gaze grazed over the dirt path. The plan replayed in his head, a mantra to keep going through the shadow and death marred cemetery.

_Enter through the back._

_Up the stairs and to the left, the third door._

_In the drawer is the file._

His feet lugged him forward while he walked past the graves. Names of the stones burned into his mind, all of them carrying a story with a tragic ending.

_Enter through the back._

_Up the stairs and to the left, the third door._

_In the drawer is the file,_ His mind struggled to distract him.

The markers along the path were weathered, decaying under Mother Nature's touch. This cemetery was no longer used, he reminded himself. The lot had been filled to the brim with the bodies of the deceased decades ago; its age shown on the dates that were etched into the cracked and weed-riddled stones. This particular patch of land had been used to bury the ones who had died long ago; the men, women, and children from the war that left its mark on history.

"_Enter through the back._

_Up the stairs and to the left, the third door._

_In the drawer is the file,_" He whispered to himself.

_Don't think about it; don't think about the lives, don't think about the misery, and don't think of the tainted, soiled souls. Don't think… H_is internal struggle distracted him from the feeling of his Damnation tensing along his body. Its movements froze across his skin; anticipating, and waiting. The tombstones were impossible to ignore, though, as he walked down their rows. He was in a sea of their presence, they stretched into the fog and beyond his vision for what could've been miles in every direction. These buried souls were the reason he hid, and the reason he fought back. The persecution, the hangings, the hiding and the fear. Oh, the bittersweet _bloodshed_.

_The Hecatomb War,_ a voice in his mind murmured against his will.

His Damnation replied violently at the mention instantaneously. He gasped at the pain that tore through his arm, his Damnation withdrawing from his arm in a flash; its needles dragged across his skin with the movement. It coiled around the flesh above his heart, shivering. Antonio grit his teeth at the spasm, the pain along his arm was sharp and heated. He cradled his left arm against his body, submitting to the heat that flamed his skin and muscles. He crouched in attempt to disperse the pain and overlaying emotions that the Damnation assaulted him with. Anger slithered into his body. His Damnation curled further into itself at his anger, the act of hiding from him was eminent. Its fear and remorse fought with his temper, and he could feel the Damnation struggle to apologize.

Breathing through his locked teeth, he quietly stayed crouched. His Damnation trembled on his chest, its horror raking his body. He leveled his breath, breathing very deliberately to distract himself from the sensation in his arm. His mind stayed clear of thoughts of the war, trying his best to keep himself and his Damnation occupied. He thought of anything and everything to keep his mind astray. The minutes rolled like hours, at one point Antonio let his body shift down to his knees. He held himself up with his right arm, his left still clenched to his stomach. He stayed like this for some time; he refused to move until his Damnation uncurled. He clenched his eyes shut. The muscles in his body ached from the position, stiff and tensed and his mind swam at the constant chatter that he blubbered to the Damnation. Only until he felt its vines trickle outwards again did he relax his body. His shoulders fell from their tense posture, and his left arm loosened, the pain now only a slight sting.

* * *

Gently, he picked himself off the the dirt path, his mind mush and pounding against his skull. Antonio felt a wave of guilt blast his body and mind, his lungs took in a sharp intake of breath at the assaulting emotions. His Damnation reached up his neck and peaked past his black shirt, pulling itself off his skin. It materializing into the moist air shyly, if not a bit awkwardly, from the side of his neck. It blossomed a small needled flower with petals soaked in a dew-like substance. It offered the flower as an apology, the Damnation's guilt seizing his heart. He sighed through his nose, the noise echoed slightly in the empty graveyard. Tenderly, he picked the transparent flower; he avoided the thistled vine and needles that spiked from the base of the budded flower in expertise. Its dim yellow glow illuminated his hand, reflecting slightly on the black gloves he wore. He inspected it, its petals dripping with the strange dew as he twirled it gently in his hand. His feet began to drag him forward again, with his attention now focused onto the flower. The dirt crunched beneath his feet as he walked down the path, his eyes barely leaving the gift in his hand, thankful for the distraction. The Damnation withdrew back to his body, once again molding into the black ink as it had before.

He stopped only when the sight of a particular tombstone caught his eye. He glanced over at the angel that was carved onto the crumbled stone in curiosity. Its wings stretched widely beyond its back, though there was little detail upon them. The date upon it was written in a curved and swirling text in a book the angel's arms held;

_1248 - 1259_

He blinked at the date, his eyes softening in realization. The one buried was only eleven.

_They were still just a babe,_ He thought morosely. His Damnation tensed against his arm, but he thought no more of the subject. In a graceful movement, Antonio crouched down on one knee, and set the Damnation's flower on the tombstone. He huffed in amusement at the irony. They died at the hands of his ancestors, but here he was, giving the child's lost soul a flower from his Damnation. It pained him to think of how the child could've died, and begged with all his being that it had not been under the touch of a Damnation.

He swiftly rose to his feet, turning on his heels back to the dirt path. With a last glance at the angel on the stone, he broke into a silent run. His Damnation was steady on his arm, unsure how to react to what he had just done. Its feelings were nonexistent, as if it had left momentarily. As soon as he pulled away from the grave he felt its presence flush back to his body. He dug his feet into the ground, moving his body as briskly as he could without being heard. He swung his arms in front of him with every pound his foot made into the ground, trying his best to get away from this dreadful place. He had to do his part of the mission; the others were counting on him. He couldn't help his mind drifting back to the angel, though, as he dashed past the endless graves in the fog. The wings that projected from its back were burned into his mind like a scar, ugly and forever tainting his thoughts.

_If an angel has wings, doesn't that make them a Damned?_

* * *

A lone howl let off in the distance, its mournful lament pierced the fogged-over atmosphere with its single drawn out note. He pressed his body against the stone wall of the cemetery, tentatively looking over his shoulder and past the stacked stones to inspect the house. It was ancient; the wood of the house creaked with the weight of itself, and the massive structure seemed to be a breeze away from blowing over. Small holes littered the sides of the wooden-panels that stretched over its frame, while a climbing hydrangea took over a majority of the house, stretching its leaves to make a wall of luscious greens and speckled flowers branching from the house. His eyes narrowed at the windows as he checked for any sign of movement; their glass panes held nothing but their cracks and the darkness of the house. He breathed heavily through his nose as he slipped along the stone wall, brushing his hand over their rough texture as he walked by. He felt his Damnation relax as they left the cemetery's grounds, flourishing across his arm and down his torso. He ignored it for the time being, the task at hand being more urgent. His feet carried him from the wall that lined the premises, towards the timeworn house. He glided along the side of the house, blending into the darkness.

_Enter through the back,_ He reminded himself.

He peaked passed the corner of the house, his eyes straining to make out any figures in the moonless night scene. Grabbing the corner of the house, he quietly stepped around the frame. He made quick pace to the door, keeping his body close to the structure. His feet made no sound against the ground; his stealth was the main reason he had been chosen to do this part of the mission. The other reason being he was able to fend for himself in case he were to be caught, though he was trying his best to avoid that outcome. It would be a last resort to fight or injure someone. He stepped onto a small platform, the door; the only barricade to keep him from infiltration. Somewhere in his mind was the voice of wisdom as it had before. Its wisping presence drifted into his mind like a poisonous gas,

_If you didn't have a Damnation, would you steal like you do now?_

Antonio reached into his pocket, gently retrieving the key. The voice had a point. He slipped it into the lock below the handle, slowly turning it until a _'click'_ echoed into the darkness around him. Would he steal? Would he have done half of the things he had, if he was not given the black image? He had stolen, raided, protested- even killed, for the sake of his life and Damnation. The key slid out of the lock in silence as he returned it to his pocket. He let out a breath that had been caged in him, his mind clearing and body releasing the tension that had built up.

_Would I be a better person?_ He thought idly.

He leaned his shoulder into the door and grabbed the handle, turning the knob delicately. The door opened, and he glided his body into the house. The inside was pitch black, not an ounce of light trickled in from the window panes. He removed his glove from his left hand, shoving it in his pocket and opened his palm upwards.

His Damnation reached for his hand. He felt it move gracefully across his skin until it became visible- barely so in the ill-lit room- and watched as the image bloomed a flower across his hand. It covered all of his palm with its stretching petals; the center surrounded by a ruffled skirt, peeking shyly out of them. He watched in fascination as the flower emerged from his hand, its body pushing out of him like a soul leaving his body. It gave off the golden-yellow radiance as before, a small light to guide him through the pitch-black household. Its light revealed the room he had entered; the kitchen. He smiled to himself as his fingers curled around the flower, gingerly keeping the light from reaching too far. The petals were silk; the needles that poked between his fingers were smooth and cool to the touch.

His footsteps were silent as he made his way along the kitchen. The table and counters reflected the light of the Damnation's flower, treating it like a small candle's flame. The next step reflected in his head;

_Up the stairs and to the left, the third door._

Antonio looked around, his head pivoting back and forth for the stairs. He walked out of the kitchen and into a narrow hallway lined in doors, all an exact copy of each other. His face grimaced at the thought of getting lost in here; it must've been designed as a labyrinth. The flower shifted to the right in his hand lightly. He followed its lead, twisting his body to head in the direction it had signaled. The light of the flower only illuminated the floor of the hallway for about a yard, the rest a pitch black sea to his eyes. He kept his breath even and muted, trying to keep calm under the circumstances. He was informed that four soldiers were currently using the old structure as a residence, and hoped they all were deep in the realms of sleep. A soldier knew how to fight.

A soldier knew how to kill.

The stairs emerged in the flower's light, flooding his heart with anxiety. With the first step came a slight creak. His body tensed at the sound and his mind raced. Slowly, he shifted his weight onto the stronger part of the board near its edge before ascending. The other stairs held his body without protest, only bowing slightly under his occupation. They led to another hallway identical to the one below, the same interior design used on them. The quiescent hall had an eerie feeling to it. He gasped lightly as a mouse darted past his feet, its quiet tittering feet carried its body swiftly into the swallowing black abyss. His feet followed it down the passage in silence, the only hint of his presence was the light that glimmered duly from his hand.

_One…_ , The first door passed him in a haze, its handle casting a shadow across the door's frame.

_two…_, He watched as the mouse squirmed under the door and into the room it hid from the hall.

_three_, His Damnation tensed; the petals of the silk flower shivering in slight worry. He held it up to the door to get a better look at it, his eyes trailing over the details. The door before him wasn't different from the others, but he knew his target laid behind it. He tentatively turned the knob, cracking the door just enough to peek in. His teeth clenched.

"_Dammit_," Antonio growled under his breath.

The flower folded into itself in a flash; the light that once bloomed from his hand now only a small budded pea that peeked shyly from his palm. He looked at the mound that laid beneath the sheets on the bed in annoyance. One of the soldiers, no doubt. He watched as the sheets rose and fell according to the man's breathing. A light snore shivered into the room from the man's mouth as he tossed onto his back with it wide open. His fingers curled round the bud protectively, his body tensing. Gilbert had not told him one of them would be in the target's_ room!_ Had he oh, so subtly left that small detail out!?

_That albino has some answering to do once we get back,_ He thought to his Damnation, gently stroking the folded bud. He braced himself, his body pulsing with adrenaline. This needed to be done.

Softly, he pushed past the door. His body slid into the room; his movement quieter than the mouse he had seen earlier. Each step came with calculation and deliberation as he inched his way to the drawer, his eyes glued to the sleeping man. The tension in his legs started to ache, and he grit his teeth at the feeling. His body burned with the sensation, the flaming touch trailed throughout his muscles at the tension within them. Emerald eyes darted back and forth between the drawer and figure in the bed. Taking the final step, Antonio gently trailed his gloved hand over the aged wood. It glided smoothly under the leather, only letting out a whispered noise under his touch. His Damnation trembled under his skin; its bud that bloomed into his hand pressed against the palm of his hand out of horror.

_Relax,_ He thought lightly, it's not like he could ever catch us. _They never have, and they never will._

He gripped the handle and deliberately pulled out the drawer with his left hand while his right reached forward to grab the desired object. His heart sped in his chest, its pulse beat against his ribs like a newly caged convict. The folded file in his hand was stuffed to the brim with papers. He gently tucked it underneath his right arm, his mind racing as he softly closed the drawer. His body froze as the man next to him tossed onto his side, arm flailing towards him. Antonio jumped back, his body pressed against a door- presumably a closet- to keep a distance from the man now sprawled out along the bed. His body shivered with adrenaline, the high and flighted feeling filling his limbs. His lips let out a silent laugh as another snore emanated from the sleeping man. He was still asleep.

Just as he went to pull himself off the door, another noise assaulted his ears. Frantic footsteps emerged from the floorboards, along with the tone of cursing and the _'swush'_-ing of clothes being put on. He listened to the said noise scramble across the downstairs floor. Without thought, he twisted his form for the knob of the door he leaned against. His trembling fingers of his left hand curled around the cool metal, turning it with vigor. He felt himself submerge into the shadows of the closet. It was no longer used- dust shivered on the few things that still occupied it as he closed the door in a swift motion. His ears strained for the source of the disturbance against the door, his cheek brushing the wood slightly.

The footsteps dashed down the hall, still accented with a very vibrant string of curses.

_Does your mother know you say that?_ He thought in slight amusement despite the situation. His Damnation jabbed a well-placed thistle into his arm at his unnecessary joke. He winced at the pain, pouting slightly.

_Just trying to make it seem like we're in a better position,_ His mind complained. He winced as another needle jabbed his arm. Antonio's attention swiftly returned to the noises coming from downstairs- which had taken their way up the stairs. He tensed as he listened to the sounds sprinted down the hall and, naturally, started banging on the door to the room. He heard shuffling accompanied by a muffled cry from the man on the bed, and a particularly loud thump.

"Dammit Garet, get up!" He heard a voice bellow from the hall.

"Mmup, M'fuhcking up! Th'hell you want, Beil?" Was the baritone response, sleep and irritation mixed and distorted the man's speech.

"_They_ are gone; I woke up and they weren't there!" The frantic note in the boy's timid voice caught Antonio's interest. He pressed closer to the door, the surface of the door skirting against the skin on his ear lightly.

"Hng, dammit Beil! You had one job- _one job_!" The baritone voice vibrated the walls and door under its fierce tones, rising as if it were boiling water, "You useless... C'mon. We need to find them, and fast."

Antonio bottled his breath and backed away from the wooden frame, his hip bumped into the back wall. The grip on the file tightened. He listened to the man beyond the door get dressed, his grunting and mumbling leaking from beneath the door. Soon his footsteps dragged him to the door, a light moan came from the aged hinges. The sound of the baritones-man scolding the boy echoed throughout the house as they descended the stairs. His hand shot to the handle as he promptly opened the door of the closet. With the stealth of a mouse, he slipped from behind the door and took quiet steps towards the window. The panes were old, stained at the abuse of Mother Nature. The file was set against the wall, and his Damnation's bud dispersed onto his skin. His fingers wrapped around the bottom frame, some of the paint flaked under his touch. He flicked it away in slight irritation and heaved the window frame upwards.

The sill strained; the wood creaked slightly in protest as it was moved for the first time in what was likely decades. He growled at the slight sound, but continued to work the frame upwards. A single chip of the peeled paint fell, landing on his cheek. He sighed and shook his head, listening as the bantering of the two soldiers as they made their way out the way he had infiltrated. He distanced himself from the window- his silhouette merged into the shadow-cast room. He watched from the dark abyss as they walked into the forest, their bodies engulfed by the black trees. Their voices melted into the foggy forest, the haze caught the sounds and smothered them until they were only gurgled notes. He stepped forward, and placed his hands on the sill, leaning forward to look at the sides of the house. The climbing vines grew besides the window, and a grin flashed onto his face as he realized his form of escape. He picked up the file once more before tucking it under his shirt, and stretched for the vined plant.

Antonio gripped the tendrils beneath the leaves, and descended down the side of the house slowly. The instant his feet hit the ground, he broke into a dead sprint. His feet carried him around the house in a flash, but just as he set his sights on the cemetery, his Damnation retaliated. It flashed needles along his skin, and he stumbled at the sudden pain. He hissed at his left arm despite not being able to physically see the black image stab him. It did not budge, and stayed as stubborn as a mule. He tried to take another step towards the stone entrance, but his arm was seized under another fleet of needles jabbing into his skin. His teeth grinded together as his head swung from side to side, desperately looking for another way back. He needed to give Gilbert the file; It was his duty. He pivoted his body to the left, and spotted a stapled trail.

_The lake,_ He thought, his face blooming in pained delight.

He threw himself towards the path without thought, his Damnation releasing his flesh from its needles as he left the cemetery behind him. The forest trees loomed over the small trail, smashing into his body as he dashed. Their trunks painted elongated shadows, and the leaves a splattered black against a grey canvas. His feet dug into the ground, pushing himself forward with all his strength while the muscles in his legs strained to keep with his demanding speed. Distance from the house was the main goal. His breath came in ragged drags as he crashed through the vegetation, his mind blank. Through the smashing and crumbling of the leaves and dirt around him, he heard a single nightingale. Its mournful lament trickled in the air as if it were a dew drop ready to fall to the earth.

He slowed at the sound, his breath dragging out of him in mangled rushes. His dash molded into a paced jog, his ears and mind captivated by the dips and chirps of the melody. Its song trailed him through the thickest of the trees. He felt his heart wretch at the song wanting, beyond his mind and soul, to hear a happy note emerge from its voice at least once.

* * *

The lake was covered in mist and shrouded the surrounding forests with a thick blanket of fog. The banks were not steep- the dip was gradual into the water, as if the land were being coaxed into the lapping shore shyly. The sun's rays turned the sky a creamed pink, though it didn't dare show it's face yet across the surface of the lake. Antonio walked along the edge of the water, just out of reach of its curious liquid. He had long lost the nightingale's song, but his mind played it's tune on repeat. Antonio gazed in a content manner at the forest, it's colors emerging along with the sun. His mind lazily drifted from the realm of thought to the present before him without restraint. A fog held over his mind, hazy and unclear. His feet slipped from rock to rock, tumbling and tripping over their uneven surfaces. Thoughts of the events from the night before remained untouched.

He wasn't lost- He knew exactly where he was, but his mind and body could not leave this place. The clearing of the lake was begging him to stay. Its pleading waters, and crying rippled waves asked and pleaded with him to stay in its presence, though he couldn't understand why. There was nothing here.

He felt his sight drift over across the lake's waters, his body far from his mind. He felt as if he was watching himself from a distance, another being controlling his muscles and flesh. Emerald eyes scanned the other shoreline, his feet taking him on a particularly large rock. His body turned to face the lake and the shoreline. Was he… waiting for something? His thoughts were faded out into his head, the haze taking over his mind. A flicker of movement caught his attention. The black silhouette ran along the water, moving fast. The instant his eyes met the figure, his heart caught aflame. A monstrous wildfire of emotions hit his body and doubled him over, his mind blanking while his heart _screamed._

* * *

My friend/unofficial-beta and I worked on this from 1:30 am to about 7:30-ish am to get it posted today. M'proud of it for the most part. My updates are going to be erratic, sorry!

**.**

**.**

**FOOTNOTES of chapter 2** _(None of these will be added to the Glossary, __highly suggested you read this to avoid too much confusion__):_

***** _This world's dates do not_ correspond with any realistic historical events of ours. So please do not get too befuddled when the story mentions something that seems very old- their history (and technological advancements) are separate from ours.

*****_The Hecatomb War was_ the war that led to the persecution of the Damned and their Damnations. The Damned were used as weapons of war because of their special abilities. It had been that way since the 300's, until around 1230's when the Damned began rebelling for their freedom. Many of them came together and became what was called the Army's Bluff, and fought back.

The group was originally nonviolent, but when the governments of the current time ordered their countries to treat them as enemy soldiers, all hell broke loose. It turned into a full-blown war from 1255 to 1263, ending when the final of the Army's Bluff forces were throttled out through the last battle- The Battle of Hispeka. Casualties were counted up to 73 million overall.

The name "The Hecatomb War" was later adopted for what had resulted. The word Hecatomb means "A large-scale sacrifice or slaughter", and was first used by King Ibis II (a King that had participated in the war).

*****_ "If an angel has wings, doesn't that make them a Damned?"_ - I felt I should explain this a little more. Damnations in this story come in many varieties. It can be from a simple sharpening of a particular sense (hearing, eyesight, touch, etc.) to a full-blown transformation, or even some things that could be considered dark magic. Anything in this world that holds animalistic limbs, including wings, would be considered a Damnation because of this thought process. Antonio was referring to this line of thought when he saw the wings, because there is no other way in this world that a human could possibly obtain them in a natural setting.

***** _For visual reference, Toni's_ Damnation is not an actual flower, but a mix of different flowers. Its structure is like a Yellow Starthistle, the flowers akin to a yellow pond lily, while (obviously) having thistle-like needles along its whole figure. If you want to get a visual, I'm confident you can look up those two flowers and can imagine what it was intended to look like.

.

.

.

NOW FOR SOME FUNNIES.. MAYBE. We were very tired when working on this, so virtually anything was hilarious to us.

**BEHIND THE SCENES OF TBTD:**

When my friend read about Toni 'confronting' Gilbert:

Her: Oshit. Gil-Gil gonna get the boot-boot up his ass-ass.

.

When she was going through and editing my grammar and spelling (which is absolutely horrid):

Her: I literally just fixed 25 'it's' and 'its'. What have you to say for yourself?

Me: My Laguane is underappreicated.

.

When my friend/beta (Kait) kept getting distracted:

Me: READ KAIT. READ LIKE THE WIND.

Her: BUT THE WIND DOESNT READ.

Me: SHH BE POETIC. READ KAIT. READ LIKE A COLLEGE GRADUATE... BETTER?

Her: BUT THEY DONT LIKE READING.

Me: omfg READ KAIT. READ LIKE A BOOK-LOVING NERD THAT IS ALSO A COLLEGE GRADUATE AND LIKES THE WIND. There, are you pleased now?

Her: BUT THEN ILL DANCE IN THE WIND WITH A BOOK ON MY HEAD

Me: I s2g I will throw you OUT THIS WINDOW I AM CURRENTLY WRITING ABOUT

.

.

.

That's all of our bad comedy.

Please, criticism is welcomed with open arms!

Until we meet again~


	5. Chapter 3

**Pre Chapter A/N:**

A few notable things I feel I should point about before the next chapter is read:

First, Elliott is a 'Nyotalia' Hungary, as is Rosine, who is Nyotalia Austria. There is very little gender-bending in this fic, so please do not get upset with me or the story. I did not do this on a random note.

Second, about the Damnations. Someone pointed out that I gave two separate definitions (Thank you, deary! vwv;;) and I'm clearing the confusion now: Both are right. A Damnation is resembled as a black image, but has the powers as mentioned in the footnotes of the last chapter. Think of Damnations as a turtle or a hermit crab- They hide in their shell until they feel the need to come out. When a Damnation is out and being used/or using its abilities, it is considered 'Active'. An example of this is when Toni's Damnation handed him a flower as an apology for hurting him. They are represented by the image, but their true powers stay hidden until revealed. Also, most Damnations are not like Toni's. His is unstable- which is rare- and has it's own personality. Most Damnations are simply tools to the Damned, but his is one of the special ones. If there is still confusion I will wholeheartedly explain it to you. I know it's all kind of confusing, but this story is_ fantasy_ themed.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter of TB&TD. It might be slightly confusing in the beginning, but it will all be explained further in, I promise.

* * *

Images infiltrated his mind in flashes. Their details blurred together, smeared colors painted by a child's nimble touch. Black patches blared between the illustrations; a paradoxical nothingness that his mind created. Somewhere beyond his body, he felt his heart dragging its claws into the flesh of his chest- or was that... his Damnation? His thoughts cried into his head, but were thrown into a void afar from his own mind. The haze smothered him and tossed him aside, disposing of his existence; the only pieces left of him were the senses and images that occasionally illuminated from the miasma. Long shadows with beastly appendages reached for the sky, their green accents pulsated along the image as they flashed by… trees, he vaguely realized.

Someplace beyond him there was a burning sensation; long tendons that pulled and constricted. A ragged flow of air entered his body, then left with little trace in swift takes. Was he running? The scent of the dawn's air made itself present; along with a blaring peach color. The detail in the next portrait was more defined than the others; white strings and puffs littered an overlying salmon color, while framed with dark lush leaves. His body was looking up… his body,_ but not him_. The internal realization struck him as odd; but again, he was forced from his own mind- forced to watch and observe. The pictures puttered around him innocently. A branch here, a leaf there, the sky, or the abyss of the forest beyond. Slowly, they morphed into a different setting; one he recognized.

Stone gray soon besieged the emerald greens, accented with peach, rose and ambers in color. Details now flowed in every image, and they came at an ever rapid pace. It was as if someone had taken his body and created a theatre; a live show of what he was experiencing. Slowly regaining power his thoughts, the haze on his mind dimed. Cobblestones, buildings half cloaked in the sun's grace, and the brisk morning air assaulted him. The sensation of running streamed into his legs, the long pulling of the muscles and flesh soon burned into him. His mind tore viciously against the haze, no longer patient to return after he was awarded the taste of existence once more.

Air tore through his lungs, and he realized he was breathing.

A beating pulsed under his flesh, and he realised his heart was beating.

The senses flooded back to him within an instant. The black haze disintegrated as his vision came back at full force. The buildings in town rushed past him, the air buffering past his ears and his hair whipping wildly. He could see every crack, window and speck of dirt once more. His lungs screamed for rest, but somewhere within him told him to continue- thus he did. He ran. From what and to where did not matter to him, all that was of importance was that he_ felt_. What the haze had taken from him in those dark moments graced him once more, the life returned to his body with vigor._ His_ life. As he ran down the alleys and past the windows in the morning's presence, he began to understand what had happened. As if recovering from amnesia, it all came back to him in droplet sized information. With every drop of realisation came two drops of fury. He knew that haze, that existence of the nothing he had felt. Antonio clenched his jaw, the flesh on his face pulled tight. Fire rose in his chest and crawled into his eyes.

How_ dare_ his Damnation do this to him.

His feet lead him into a large square, the buildings stood proud around the border of the clearing. Elegant designs swooped and intertwined in the cobblestone, all of it centered around a large fountain in the midpoint. The water lapped down the statue it emerged from, the three bowls overflowing and carrying the water to the next stage. His anger became more and more distinguished he ran across the stones, too blinded by his fury to run ajar from the middle. Instead he leaped the stone sides of the fountain and into the crystal water. The water reached and clawed for him as he made his dash, his fear of water pushed away from his mind. The steps of a massive building came to his attention as he leap past the edge of the fountain.

The structure was the town's court house, it's small steps lead up to columns that held an overlapping roof. The steps were not tall in height, but they spilled out far beyond the entrance. His wet feet directed him to the building, and he began to ascend the stair- but a voice in him begged him to stop. He felt his knees give way without warning. They met the smooth grey stone of the steps in a muffled '_thumff_' as his weight buckled onto the ground. His soaked legs trembled. Antonio's mind raged with an array of emotions, but his temper outdid them all. His fury blazed through him as he hunched over and laced his fingers through his ruffled hair, clutching the tresses with much fervor. A silent scream tore from his lips.

How_ dare_ his Damnation take his body from him.

He felt the file underneath his shirt crumple slightly and peek out shyly. He blinked, his eye sight glazed over in red, body shivering. He had let his Damnation take over. It took his body from him, and he hated himself for it. It made him feel weak; for him to be taken without notice. The red bloomed across the sight of the stairs, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the cool stone. He stayed like this; Body trembling, fingers laced through his hair, lips parted. Molding to the shape of the stairs, his body's figure curved in an aching position. His Damnation was frozen on his skin, as if it were merely an image and not the one who had caused all of this.

_If only such things existed,_ he thought bitterly- the first clear thought after regaining control. Curiosity mingled, and his mind replayed the mission in his head. He remembered the scene at the cemetery, the mouse in the hall, hiding in the closet. When had he lost control? The memories continued to perform; the window, running towards the cemetery... changing directions, and ... a nightingale? The sounds of the bird's song outlined his mind. The chirps rang in his ears, the recollection of running through the forest faded to black until the only thing left of the memory was the bird's lament. He felt his body relax as the melody recited in his mind. The fingers in his hair slipped to the stone stairs, clutching the smooth surface next to his head. The arch in his back smoothed out, and as he opened his eyes he found the red that had once painted his vision has dissipated. His body had long stopped its shaking under the song's sound. Antonio breathed a soft sigh, the relief that came with the musical dips and sharp notes undid the tension of his anger.

_The song must've caused it,_ He realized duly. The Damnation must've felt him slip into the sounds, but why did it take over in response? It's not a crime to be captured by beauty. Unless it's a siren; then anyone would've been screwed over. He chuckled dumbly at the thought as the initial anger flushed from his body, coherent thoughts beginning to ramble into his mind.

His Damnation never took over without reason. It didn't have the energy or the want to control his body, nor was it the type to do something so dangerous out in the public's eye. The Damnation had to latch onto his head in order to have control- normally, it opted to reach for his eye, then take over from there. The black ink stuck out from his face's tanned skin like a sore thumb. Why had it led him into town then, where anyone could see? At the question he felt the black vines shiver and wake from their fixed state. They stretched sluggishly down his left arm, the movements slow and tedious. The progress seemed to take much more effort than usual- as if it were tired. It reached for his hand, but never emerged from beneath the cuff of his shirt. The tendons curled against his skin; its reply to the question was only the movement- but somewhere within his mind was an itching feeling, a feeling that he felt he already knew the answer.

Antonio tensed his arms, then pushed himself into a more comfortable position. He lifted one of his knees off the unforgiving stone to kneel on the steps. He looked up at the white cloaked building, its surface absorbing the sun's rays as they peaked onto a little less than half of it's surface. He braced his leg and hoisted himself upwards. His feet were still wet- the liquid caused a chill that coated his skin. The biting cold of the water combined with the cool morning air caused him to shiver, despite being fully clothed. Tentatively, he lifted his right foot to the next step. Why did he stop here? He realized that it had been his Damnation to ask him to stop- well, urged him to, anyways. What was the reason for taking him to the courthouse? It was one thing to steal from a pathetic soldier, but another to steal from such a promptus place. First, a Court of Law held no meaning to him. Second, the danger would've been too great. The Black Parade would never risk such a movement.

His feet made a quiet tap against the stone as he walked up the steps. The massive stairway stretched far on either of him as he walked up the center, his eyes stalling on the sun-bathed engravings that lined the overlapping roof. They depicted leaves, their demeanor reminded him of open hands, a loyal friend stretching out to lend much needed help. He smiled lightly at the thought, and his cheeks perked. He temporarily forgot his woes as he stood atop the stairway and looked across the square. The sun blazed over the horizon of the city, it's delight displayed for all to see. The quiet sounds of the sleeping city blossomed around him; a rustle of papers blown in the wind, the skittering of a mouse, the fountain's waters hopping from the bowls to the next, and the soft sighs of the breeze shifting around the structures. He closed his eyes, a faint smile still on his face. Even if he didn't know why he was lead here, it was still fascinating. In the early hours of the morning he felt the city held a truce. No hangings, no boisterous salesmen or women, no care in the world.

_Tranquility,_ He thought to his Damnation. He lifted his right hand to touch over his heart- to touch over his Damnation. He was still annoyed with it for taking over, but at this moment his irritation was soothed. The relaxation of the scene smoothed over his emotions, like a mother whose child offered her a heartfelt drawing; an apology for a mess or a wrong-doing. He vaguely thought of the file tucked under his shirt, and how ironic this all was. To stand in front of a Court of Law with a stolen file was akin to the chocolate-smothered face of a child who stood next to the cookie's jar. Antonio let a rush of air leave his lungs slowly. His Damnation pleaded to stay, and his desire to leave grew weak. Something was begging him to stay… A single image bloomed in his mind; a silhouetted figure across a lake's shoreline and the notes of a nightingale's lament. The illustration seemed familiar, but he couldn't recall where he'd seen it before. His heart pulsed faster the longer he thought of the portrait his mind had created, as did his curiosity.

"The others can wait a little," He justified to himself as he stooped down to sit on the top step.

* * *

Antonio's shut eyes twitch when a new noise drifted into his ears. It was faint pitter-patter- the noise barely registered in his ears as he rested with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees in a lazy fashion. It was the first noise he had heard that wasn't part of the city's sleeping; it was still too early for people to be walking around, many of them still in deep slumber next to their loved ones. As the sound increase, he began to recognized the clamor.

_Who the hell is up and around at this hour?_ He thought duly, his eyes peeking out from behind their lids. His lips parted slightly as he drew in a breath of the morning air- the sun seemed to hang in the exact same place as it had earlier, barely peeking over the builds in a shy manner. Its orb still hugged the horizon close. As the ringing of the footsteps drew closer, his Damnation sprung to life on his flesh. It began to curl and shiver, bouncing its vines and budded flowers. Its joyous attitude bewildered him. What was so special about someone out running? His mind unhurriedly returned from its drowsy state, clearing as he lifted his head and let his arms fall forward. His interest heightened as he realized the footsteps were heading towards the square. Slowly, still a little sluggish from his daze, he braced his arms on either side of him and hoisted himself up. His legs took over his weight, and he yawned as he straightened out. Arms strained above his head, he stretched out his body; while his Damnation's excitement grew and his curiosity peaked, another part of him was tense.

_Something's not right,_ a quiet voice whispered to him. He blinked.

Surprise bubbled inside him as he felt his Damnation vine out- across his _whole chest._ It's vines spread along his torso, and reached for his right arm. It evened out over his collarbone, and other vines clawed around to his back. His skin was consumed by the hungry ink, his eyes widening as it went as far as trailing down his legs. He gasped lightly- the vines sent jolts of elation into his flesh, he couldn't help the hand that clutched his shirt. The feeling of being covered, being devoured by the Damnation flamed across his skin. The touch under the vine's needle and leaves sent shivers down his spine.  
"What..?" He whispered to his Damnation; the sound of the footsteps echoing into the empty clearing he stood above. Narrowed eyes scanned the square, searching for the direction of the noises. His body stiffened as he listened.

_More than one person?_ He thought in slight shock. Something was definitely not right. Slowly, still clutching his shirt, he walked down a few of the steps. The frantic footfalls from one of the streets that led to the square poured into the opening eerily; the '_swush_'-ing of cloth became eminent. The sounds spread, flourishing louder until their beating matched the wild beating in his ear; Footsteps, clothes and the sound of heavy breathing.

_From the right,_ He realized, his eyesight jerked to the right side of the clearing. A smear of black flashed into his vision. A gasp tore his lips open as a rush of emotion assaulted his body- a déjà vu feeling. He'd felt this way before, hadn't he? Memory of the lake besieged him. His eyes widened as he stared dumbly at the black-cloaked figure, his jaw dropped slightly. He gawked from the stairs, the black hooded figure heading straight for him. He noticed through his stupor that the figure was carrying two blanket-wrapped bundles, one in each arm coddled to the person's chest. This was the silhouette from the lake shore. These emotions that sheared his body; this absolute_ burning_ in his heart, the silent scream of his soul, this feeling beyond comprehension…

"_It was like a wildfire in my heart, and I was soaring through the clouds. It felt like a drug's high. Never had I felt so much emotion. And, even to this day, that feeling lingers,_" Elliott's voice whispered to his thoughts. The person approached him at an astonishing pace, their graceful legs taking the stairs two at a time. His eyes raked over their body, fascination filling every fiber of his being. Had he…

…just imprinted?

* * *

The one in black stood three steps below him. Their eyes met in a clash; blazing emerald against encasing amber. Ragged breaths escaped from the ambered-eyed figure- a man, he realized. The running had taken a toll on his body, and he trembled like a leaf in Autumn. His chest rose and fell briskly underneath the two bundles he held to, his fingers dug deep into the fabrics, holding onto them as if they were the only things left. Antonio held his breath as he stared. With the sun blazing directly behind him, the hooded man's face was hidden behind an intense shadow. Amber eyes gleamed out from the darkness that masked half of his face from sight, its obscurity driving Antonio borderline-psychotic with curiosity. The man's pale lips were pulled into a tight line. His face curved gently into the shadow; his nose peeking into the morning's light bashfully. He watched as it flared with his ragged breaths. The thought of how _beautiful_ this person this was, how every little detail screamed for his attention, etched into his mind in frantic strokes like graphite on paper as if he'd never see this man again, jolted his very core.

This was what it was like, the love he could not choose.

At the moment, Antonio couldn't have cared less.

Vivacity dripped in his veins like toxin, paralyzing him. This spell that encased the air seemed endless as the two battled in their stare; the intensity of the emotions he felt reflected in the man's eyes before him. In the back of his mind, a siren went off. The alarm slowly leaked onto the surface as he recalled the echoing footsteps.

_There had been more than one set,_ The panic whispered to him. His eyes dragged across the man's face, noticing the slight quivering. A single drop of sweat swept out of the shadow across man's face and trailed down his cheek, leaving a glittering wake behind. Antonio watched as his dipped over his cheek and hung from his chin. The lone drop clung to the man's face, shivering along with him. Footfalls shattered the spell that sheathed them from the world; the hooded man jerking at the sound, adjusting his hold on the two bundles, tucking them into his chest. Antonio watched as the droplet fell, a vacant stare and a ghost's smile smeared on his face.

The world's motion became sluggish. The haze crawled onto his cerebellum; and he felt his Damnation's vines shoot vertically. The ink's tendrils darted across the flesh along his neck, the sensation faded as the haze's claws dug deeper into his mind. He fought the sensation- his control and consciousness rotting under the Damnation's administration. He lifted his hand to tear at the skin on his cheek; the Damnation latching to his eye as the world melted around him. The pain of his nails running across his skin lingered, dragging out his presence. He duly noted the man before him lurch towards him, his black hood lifting at the sudden movement. A figure stood behind the hooded man, the footsteps that flickered off the buildings synchronized with the blur's footfall. A familiar baritone voice screeched into the air, as well as sensation that bubbled across the skin on his left arm. The last point that registred to his seized mind was the pale glow of his Damnation- and the blood curdling screech that followed.

* * *

Wisps of emotions tickled his chest, brushing and fading as time ricocheted from his being. Cluttered images flushed his mind of the darkness; their broken colors and smeared items made no sense to him. He felt the muscles on his chest strain as he brought in a breath- his senses collapsing back into him painfully. Antonio's ears rang at a loud gurgling moan, the noise shocked him into the present. His vision flashed before him once more; the feeling akin to daggers being driven through his eyes. A grunt choked in his throat, and his muscles went into a slight spasm at the sudden switch of control. The colors of his perception relaxed, the pain resolving to a simple throb. The portrait his eyesight graced him with caused his stomach to clench.

_Blood._

It dripped from his left arm like dew off a flimsy blade of grass in the morning's wake as it stretched before him. The hot droplets left trails across his skin, causing goosebumps to rise at the loss of their heat. When had his sleeve been pulled up? And his hand.. his hand clutched onto… flesh. Human flesh; warm, but not pulsing with a heart's beat. The skin in his palm was a deadweight- the man's head lulled to the side, his unfamiliar tusses of hair dripping with life's favorite crimson paint. His fingers wrung around the man's neck, blood cascading out of a gaping wound below Antonio's grip. He froze at the sight, his limbs chained together like a beast held captive. A shuddered gasp curled into the air behind him- the key that swiftly unlocked the bound muscles. His hand jerked away with such force his body lurched backwards, and he stumbled with his footing. The step behind him caught the heel of his boot, his back landing heavily onto the stone. A quiet grunt broke his lips open as he shifted, hooking his right boot onto the stairs and lifting himself with his left arm. He stared down at the body with stiff eyes.

The man bore a soldiers uniform- the royal gold and red marred with the blood that flushed from his fatally wounded neck. His mouth hung open, held together by the lifeless tendons in his jaw. The man's eyes were glazed over while his face strung with a duly surprised expression. Along one of his eyes hung a single tear from his black lashes; the still orb reflected a distorted image in its liquid. Antonio felt his body glaze over in a numbing sensation. His limbs dazedly shifted him until he sat, his back hunched as his spine curved into his skin. The blood on his bare arm had begun to cool at this point- contrasting the heat that emanated from his skin. In timid progression his arms curled around his knees. The Damnation lay still on his arm, unfazed by the liquid that seeped to graze its surface. A few of the blood droplets were caught between the dark fabric of his pants and bare arm, smearing across the fabric.

Time pressed on around him. The reticent chitters of distanced bird, the muted babbling of water in the fountain, the low murmur of critters scraping across the streets and down the alleys that connected to the square. Life continued to pitter-patter around him, unfazed by the death.

A ragged breath resounded behind him. Antonio flinched, jerking his head to look over his shoulder. The man stood ajar to him; he stood higher on the steps with his amber eyes locked onto his. His hold on the two blanketed heaps quivered. Gently, Antonio rose to his feet. When the man had lurched forward earlier, his hood had fell- his face now glimmered duly with the morning's rays. Locks of a dark brown hair cupped his face, a few strands cloaking the encasing ambers. He stood with his jaw tensed; seas of emotions fought behind his eyes, their churning conflict obvious.

_The light does him no justice,_ he thought bashfully to himself. Even in light of the situation- assuming he had just taken the life of another, his body relaxed. The rational thoughts fell from his mind. Left with only the instinctive nature instilled in him, Antonio parted his lips, his voice scratching out a single word;

"Come."

* * *

The glass shattered gracefully; the shards pierced the air with a gallant burst of energy. They glittered in the dull light of the candles, light '_tinks_' resounded as they bounced lightly upon their arrival on the kitchen's wooden floor. A breath flared out Antonio's nose at the noise, his composure unfazed by the response.

"_What!?_" Gilbert roared, his canines flashing slightly in the candlelight. His red eyes pierced into Antonio's emerald ones; the fire meeting the forest.

"I got you the file,_ amigo,_" Antonio grit through clenched teeth, "what's the matter?"

" 'What's the matter'? You brought someone home, that's the matter!" Gilbert barked, slamming his fisted hand onto the table, "This isn't some whorefest, Tonio! Couldn't you find a better time to hire a prostitute for your deprived ass?"

The words boiled under Antonio's skin, heat stinging the flesh along his Damnation most. How dare Gilbert talk about him that way, like he was some nasty hooker. He wasn't a whore; the man he dared call such filthy words, the one whom he had brought home, was his mate.

_Our mate,_ he thought softly; a foreign emotion tingling across his skin.

"Take that back," He breathed quietly, eyes narrowed at the tense man before him. Gilbert leaned onto the table with a sigh. His head hung slightly, the pale tresses of hair falling. His friend's face twisted together, eyebrows knit as he stared down at the file that had been tossed on the wooden table. It was crumbled seldomly from the rough fixture of being stuffed under Antonio's shirt. Little droplets of blood littered one of the corners, a reminder of what had occurred. Gilbert lifted his hand, drawing his pasty fingers over the dried stains,

"Do you realize how much trouble you've caused us?" He grumbled. He tilted his head towards Antonio slightly, red eyes peering shyly behind white lashes. Antonio felt as if a pitchfork had pierced him, twisting the muscles of his heart, tearing them. He nodded. Slowly, Gilbert's clenched fist loosened,

"You're a dumbass," He concluded. Antonio chuckled lightly. Tension creaked in his muscles and his heart felt limp; he'd just stolen, killed, and taken a stranger home.

_What would your mother say if she was here?_ A fleeting thought gurgled in his head. He lifted a tense arm and slid his fingers through his rebellious tresses, his index finger getting caught in a kink. Gilbert raised an eyebrow in amusement as he watched him fiddle with the knotted hair, slowly working out the tangled mess,

"In my defense, I can't control my own imprint," Antonio grumbled as he tugged at the kink, "_por favor,_ understand that. I didn't endanger us intentionally." The inadequate light of the candle flickered long shadows across the pale man's face, the red irises turned into aged jems. The tiny flame licked and tossed in his eyes; slightly wrinkled skin highlighted across the edges of his eyes and accented his face, and for once Antonio was forced to see his friend in a different light. Before him was not a gruff, proud and loud-mouthed friend, but an older, wiser man that had seen too much in too little time. As Antonio finally undid the knot in his unruly mess, he truly felt like a child. His arm fell spiritless to his side, his common-placed smile falling, eyebrows curving upwards. When had he become the child; the one who had to be watched to ensure they weren't poking their fingers on a delicate vase, or smuggling a homeless, flea-bitten kitten home?

"Give him a break,_ vieil homme_, you cannot stop the inevitable." They both turned to the man that leaned onto the doorframe, his blue beryl eyes gleaming at Antonio. Gilbert huffed at the name calling, his eyes trailing down to his hands, "Not an old man…" Francis ignored him, and instead focused on Antonio.

"Tonio, tell me," Francis tentatively pushed himself off of the frame, eyes plowed into Antonio's, "exactly how did you meet our pleasant little guests?"

"_G-guests?_" Antonio croaked, bewildered. His lips parted into a slight 'o'.

"Yes, guests. You didn't see?" Francis's eyes never strayed as he took a step towards him, "now, answer me, _ s'il te plaît?_"_ Please?_

Antonio felt his memories tripping over one-another, his mind reeling back to the square. The way the man had ran straight for him, the one who was chasing him. His Damnation twitched, poking his skin. No. Something wasn't right. He had seen the man before, he'd seen him before the square…

"The lake," He started slowly, "I saw him at the lake."

" 'The hell were you doing at the lake?" Gilbert hissed, his eyes trained on Antonio along with Francis's.

"My Damnation," He felt it twitch at the mention, "was causing, uh, a scene. When I had entered the cemetery it had a panic attack of sorts, _creo que_…"_ I think._ The questions littered his friends' eyes.

"It was upset. That cemetery was used during the Hecatomb War, you know. Instead of causing another incident I decided to go the long way."

Their eyes continued to drill into his skin, pinning him into the corner of the kitchen with their interrogational expressions, confusion dancing a tango with turmoil in their eyes. Antonio felt a sheepish grin crawl onto the muscles of his face, a pathetic laugh bubbling past his lips. His friends never understood his Damnation- or even him, for that matter. Their questioning glances and raised eyebrows were a gesture he accepted into his daily life. It reminded him of the expressions others wore while he was in town, and they way they'd gaze at him; a grown man caught up in the small aroma of a bakery, staring emptily at the toys and trinkets in the shop windows, or the jealous glance at the ones who wore short sleeved shirts, their arms bare to the world with the sun tainting their skin. He winced.

_I really am a child,_ He thought dryly to his Damnation. It curled along his arm, a warm heat emanating off the black image. He raised his right arm to rub the spot where his Damnation rested. At least his Damnation understood him, but despite this, he snorted slightly.

_Sí, a curse understands me. I feel so loved,_ He thought bitterly. He squeaked as a well-placed needle dug into his skin, a personal '_fuck you_' from his Damnation.

"Is that so," Francis muttered, an awkward tone straining his voice. He lifted his arm, coughing into his hand, finally diverting his gaze from Antonio to the ever-interesting cupboards along the wall. Gilbert stretched, his arms high above his head as he muttered,

"You better be worth the trouble, Tonio. We weren't expecting a body," He wheezed while he stretched. Antonio cringed at the comment, another pitiful chuckle leaving his mouth. He didn't remember killing him- he honestly didn't. His Damnation had been the one to take the man's life, seemingly without hesitation. He began to rub his arm once again.

"Why?" He blurted, a glazed over look adorning his face. Both of his friends paused, looking over at him in their traditional look of confusion. The heat exploded in his cheeks, blossoming them into a rosy red. His Damnation twitched in amusement.

"Wait, no, not you-" Antonio yelped, a groan rumbled in his throat, "never mind." He grumbled tautly. Gilbert let his arms fall to his sides, a small grin lit his face.

"Weirdo."

"Albino."

Gilbert stuck his tongue at Antonio childishly before turning to Francis.

"Well, might as well meet our guest-"

"Guests" Francis corrected, pointing his finger to the ceiling with a mirrored smirk.

"_Guests_." Gilbert grumbled as he pushing past Francis. Antonio smiled dimly at Francis, the blond sending him a devious wink.

* * *

"Ouch!_ Fa male_!"

"Shut up and stay still, brat, or else I'll make it hurt worse." Joan huffed, but no venom dripped from her words; instead a small smile as the withering man whined in front of her. His fussing reminded her of a child whose finger bore a splinter.

"Sit still." She chided. The amber-eyed man hissed as she wrapped the gauze around his calf, her eyes filled with a supple laughter. He leaned back, his knuckles turning a ghostly white as they clutched the edge of the table.

"Nini, listen to the nice lady!" A plump-cheeked child scolded, his honeycomb eyes dressed in apprehension. His appearance mirrored the older man's, suggesting their relation. Joan's eyebrow cocked at the nickname, her eyes flickering up to the amber-eyed man, a question alight in them. The man ignored the gaze she sent him, instead directing his attention to the petite child that fidgeted next to her. The boy's nimble fingers curled into the older ones, tears brimming the corner of his eyes.

"Nini's not going to die, is he?" The boy tilted towards Joan as the syllables left his lips, the words only a childish whisper. His eyes strayed up to the man before flickering back to hers, as if the older man wouldn't hear the naive- but heartfelt- altercation. The amber-eyed man snorted, bending towards the child and lifting the young hand to his lips.

"I'm not dying, Feli. It's a small cut, nothing more,_ Non ti preoccupare._" _Don't worry,_ he cooed to the child in a hushed voice; love and affection laced into every word, dripping from his tongue like velvet. Another hand shoved its way onto theirs, a identical child grinning cheekily at both of them.

"Lovino isn't a baby like you, Felici, don't cry over everything. Nini is strong," The other boy stated boldly, his eyes flickering back to the older man- Lovino- with a wide smile. His large olive eyes stared at him in delight when his words were rewarded with a quiet chuckle.

"Yes, Feli. Listen to Marcello, and have more faith in me." Lovino teased, brushing a stray tress from the tear-riddled face of the boy.

"But Nini," Feliciano drew out the final 'i', his cheeks puffed and tainted red under the touch of his muted sobbing.

"Now, now you two. Let Lovino rest, he needs it. Oh and, " Joan cocked her head to the side, eyes not leaving her hands as she fiddled with the pale cloth, "Antonio! Get your ass in here and help."

The door's hinges whined at the movement as Antonio pushed inwards, his cheeks stained a pleasant pink. He peeked in, a sheepish smile twitching at his lips, his eyes wandering curiously like a child in a toy shop. Joan motioned for him, tittering quietly as she glanced over at him; his shoulders were slumped and his head was ducked slightly, even his ears held their own tint of rosy red. She rolled her eyes, leaning back to admire her neatly done handiwork. Her deft fingers trailed the thin cloth gently as a small sigh slipped past her lips.

"Could you please help Lovino stand?" She inquired, looking over at the shy man in the doorway.

"_Sí,_" Antonio murmured, stumbling over his own feet as he wobbled over. He shot a pointed grin at Lovino, a swift display of bravado before his courage slipped into the abyss. Tender sage irises froze in the encasing amber, the exchange elongated by Antonio's blunt staring. A light in the emerald eyes trembled, the smile on the man's face expanding beyond his seams. His eyes bloomed puerile petals accentuated with a callow stem, his supple lips leafing out a borderline ludicrous simper. Joan snorted, shoving his shoulder to regain Antonio's attention. Antonio flinched under her touch, eyes snapping back to her with an embarrassed whine.

A devil pulled the strings on her face, curving the edges of her mouth skyward. Eyes gleaming with a damnable glint and an intent unknown to anyone but herself, she moved her lips deliberate and slow;

"Antonio, _Dites bonjour à Lovino."_

_Say hello to Lovino._

* * *

Am I evil for ending the chapter like this? Anywho, THE LAST HALF OF THIS CHAPTER IS UNBETA'D. IF YOU SEE ANY MISTAKES, PLEASE INFORM ME. I was so excited to post it, and very unwilling to wait. This is what we all get for my impatience. I will update with a beta'd version within the day or so.

**Calling out to anyone who speaks French, German, Hungarian, Italian and/or Spanish! I'm no linguistics major, so please- if you would like to contribute to the story, you could be a volunteer translator!

Also, I've started to post sneak peeks at chapters on tumblr under the tag #TB&TD. I also encourage this tag to be the one used if you ever refer to it on tumblr, whether it be art, a rant, or even bashing. I feel as if anyone using the tag other than me is wishful thinking, but one can aspire and hope. An author can dream; how in hell do you think I write this kinda story if I couldn't?

**Footnotes:**

***** _"His Damnation was frozen on his skin, as if it were merely an image and not the one who had caused all of this. If only such things existed, he thought bitterly...":_ Tattoos do not exist in this world, because they would be mistaken for a Damnation. The technology was never discovered here, because there was no desire to mark their skin.

*****_ "It didn't have the energy or the want to control his body, nor was it the type to do something so dangerous out in the public's eye. The Damnation had to latch onto his head in order to have control- normally, it opted to reach for his eye, then take over from there.":_ Antonio's Damnation can force itself into control of Toni's body. When it refers to 'latching onto his eye', it is a similar action that was made by the hummingbird of the first chapter. It's where the 'ink'/black image touches the eye (Or appear to), giving the Damnation access to his brain. I will not answer any questions pertaining to if the hummingbird of the first chapter, for that is up to the perception of the reader.

*****_ It has been hinted in_ the first chapter and very slightly in this chapter, but YES- in this story Toni has Aquaphobia, the fear of water.

***** _For anyone who's curious,_ the city they are currently in is called 'Grendsburg'. It's actually a fairly large city, but the tavern is located on the very edge of the city limits. Toni, Francis and the others tend to not travel too far into the city. The cemetery that they had visited last chapter was fairly far off of the city limits on the other side of town, while the court house is staked in roughly the center of Grendsburg. The lake is adjacent to the cemetery, with water directed into the city to make canals along some sections.

((Can you tell I don't have my betas read over this part? Eheh.))

**BEHIND THE SCENES:**

Me: langeig

langeieg

lanueffe

lanfige

lanige

languege

DID I GET IT RIGHT?

Kait: Nein, keep trying.

Me: lanugegu

lanugee

langueg

langue

lague

ITS GETTING SMALLER WHAT DO I DO

LANFGUEG

LANFUEG

LANGUE

LANGUEGF

LANGIEG

LANGUEG

GODDAMNIT

KNAGG

Kait: LANGUAGE

.

Me: at 9:30 someone tell me to check the langry

Me: langeu

Me: landry

Me: LAUNDRY

Me: OF DEATH

Philip: langerie of death?

Me: PHILIP WRONG WORD

Me: YOU'RE A TERBLE LANGUEGEG TRANSLATOR

Nini (Second Beta): AND IT'S LINGERIE! xD

.

(The story is written originally on a Google Doc, which is shared with my main Beta, Kait)

Me: I hate typing here because then you can see me struggle to spell live

Kait: I find it funny but a tiny bit sad to watch you struggle ;;

.

Me: I JUST SPELLED THROAT AS THROAGHT

Kait: NEW LOW POINT FOR YOUR LANGUAGE

.

Kait: Hell, me and Mourning are gayer than that one show about the gay swimmers.

Me: Yes we really are

.

Me: I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE THIS PART EITHER DAMMIT FUCK ME UP THE ASS WITH A GREY PEACOCK PHEASANT THIS IS NOT OKAY.

Kait:_** PÅFÅGEL.**_

.

.

.

Examples of how your author cannot spell- At all. Some of Kait and I's relationship shines through, too. Updates for this story will be about once a month since school has started. I will not abandon you all, I swear to it.

Constructive criticism, as always, is highly accepted! (I am fully aware that the tenses in the story change faster than the seasons, but it's always too difficult to fix. Sorry!)

Until We Meet Again.


End file.
